Timebomb
by Wisery
Summary: Post X2. When Scott turns to a mysterious scientist for help, Xavier hires someone to find out more. Rogue becomes infatuated with the man and things get sticky. But what do the others have to say about all this? And what will they do when Jean shows up?
1. Chapter 1

Title: To Be Announced

Disclaimer: Short and sweet shall we? NOT MINE! NOTHING'S MINE!

Author's Note: Uh, hi. This is my first _ever_ fanfic. Ever! And, I assume you're about to read it. Good luck! Now, since this _is_ my first posting, your replies are going to make or break this story. I'm a sensitive little thing. And I'm not going to keep posting if you guys don't like it. So be nice! But constructive criticism is a good thing. Oh, and I don't actually know how long it takes for a body to dissolve... I'm not that morbid! Now, are you really still reading this? The story is down there!

Takes place after X2 (just so you know). Not because I didn't like X3 but because I started writing this (you guessed it) after X2.

* * *

It takes a body about 6 months to decompose when exposed to a large amount of unsalted water. Even then, it takes several more years for the bones to dissolve. They should have found something. As it was, they found no physical evidence that they'd ever been there. They being the X-men, and there being Alkali Lake. 

Charles Xavier, a dignified bald man of 56, carefully picked his way along the rock and debris-strewn shore of the lake. He looked across the lake to his former students. Storm, a white-haired mocha beauty of 27, stood before a bulky machine but was speaking to Scott, another one of his ex-students, distractedly. Scott scribbled something on a notepad and consulted a chart that was taped to the side of the jet. Not far away, Logan, the newest edition to the team, crouched at the lake shoreline, one hand trailing in the murky water.

"Scott, I've scanned the water three times!" Storm said in exasperation. "There's nothing here; we would've found it by now." Scott looked at her derisively and shook his head.

"Scan it again, 'Ro," he snapped. "She's down there. She must be." Storm sighed and began the program again. "Where are those water samples?" he called into the jet. Logan rose suddenly.

"Oh, here," he said, digging a crumpled computer print out from the back pocket of his jeans. "All negative," he said as Scott looked at the complex chart on the jet again, comparing numbers and patterns.

"Impossible," he muttered. Then looking back up at Logan he said, "Run them again," and shoved the paper back.

"No," Logan answered simply with a frown. Scott glared at him behind his glasses. Sensing his aggravation, Logan explained defiantly. "I already did."

"Run them again," Scott growled. "You're still new at this. You must've messed something up." Logan stayed where he was, glaring at Scott with annoyance. After a moment, Scott said, "Fine. I'll do it myself," and snatched the paper from Logan before storming toward the jet's door. Logan followed quickly, itching for a fight.

"I've checked those 10 times! I ran them through the computer and had 'Ro triple check 'em. I even made Chuck look at 'em! You're not going to find anything we haven't already," he said, grabbing Scott's wrist to turn him around. At the contact, Scott whirled around and forcefully pushed Logan away. Logan backpedaled in an attempt to regain his balance, tripped on a table leg, and fell with a splash into the icy lake water. He sat there, his hands, feet, and butt submerged in the filth as disturbed silt surrounded him in a black cloud.

His face showed no emotion as he, seemingly, calmly picked himself up and stepped back onto the dry bank. Wordlessly, Logan stepped around the now-fallen table that had tripped him; the only sound was that of the gravel crunching beneath his soggy boots. His claws slowly, silently slipped from their hiding place in his arms and waited, fully extended and deadly, ready for their task. Logan's mask of serenity flickered, a hint of his hidden anger fleetingly sliding across his face. Scott's eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step backwards at seeing the raw rage directed at him. He was flush against the jet's side, its coolness seeping through the fabric of his shirt to his back. The feeling of being trapped urged forth an action, and, steeling his resolve, Scott raised a hand to his eyes, ready to attack. Logan sprang, fluidly stretching in the air, languidly aiming for Scott's throat with unerring primal accuracy. Scott fired; the burst of raw red energy flowing from his eyes cut through the air like lightning. Just before the impact, Logan's body went flying backward 100 yards out over the lake, always staying mere centimeters from the searing blast of energy. With chilling finality, he unceremoniously crashed into the murky depths. Then energy flashed overhead, blurry and distorted from his position below the surface. Though Logan was underwater, he felt neither cold nor wet. He did feel his body being sucked down toward the lake floor at an alarming rate. Then, he panicked and began fighting the pull, his arms and legs flailing helplessly. For the second time in his remembered life, Logan was scared.

Logan gasped for air, but got mouthfuls of cold, dirty water instead. That did nothing for his panicked mind, causing him to struggle for the surface more desperately. A sharp pain resounded through his skull, and he saw blood snaking its way through the water in front of him just before he blacked out. The suction stopped abruptly, and the force pushed him to the surface, letting him bob there like a ragdoll.

"Logan! Scott! Hey!" Storm shouted as she ran toward the impending fight. She saw Logan spring and Scott shoot. "Scott!" she screamed with disbelief. She skidded to a stop beside him as he slammed his eyes shut, dust and dirt flying around her legs as she slid down the bank's slope. "What did you do?" she asked with awe as the beam of light skimmed across the entire lake and crashed into a clump of trees on the other side, causing a large rock slide into the lake.

Ororo called up a strong gust of wind to carry her over the lake and took to the sky. She traced the foamy ripples as they radiated from the lake's center, where Logan had landed. The water was calming, the waves slowly diminishing into nothingness. She flew closer to the water, examining its surface for any sign of Logan. On her third circle around the lake, his head popped above the surface. She quickly glided over and fished him from the freezing waters. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other around his middle as she rose higher into the air. Her eyes clouded over as she pulled warm air from the sky and used it to dry Logan's frost encrusted body. By the times the duo reached the shore, he was beginning to wake up.

Logan groaned softly as Ororo sat him in one of the folding chairs that was set up. He looked at her hazily before coughing up several mouthfuls of lake water. Xavier was sitting beside him, tension seeping from every pore of his body. Charles looked at Logan, his face a mask of concern and disappointment.

"Are you all right?" he asked tersely. Logan nodded and instantly wished he hadn't. Noticing his discomfort, Ororo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'll get you some ice," she said softly. He tried to offer her a grateful smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Xavier turned toward the jet where Scott was standing with his hands on his head, waiting for his lecture.

"Since there seems to be no crisis here, perhaps you won't mind my leaving?" he asked Logan, who nodded almost imperceptibly. As Charles left, Storm returned with one of the jet's emergency ice packs. "Oh, and Ororo?" Xavier called over his shoulder stiffly. "I need you to prep the jet when you finish tending to Logan. We're going home."

"Scott, pack the lab equipment. We're returning to the mansion," Xavier said as he maneuvered his way along the gravel shore.

"What? Professor, you can't –" Scott began in protest, following Xavier inside the jet. Xavier turned sharply.

"I can and I am! The behavior this trip has brought out in you is unacceptable. I don't know what happened out there, but I've no doubt it was petty and ridiculous. Now, get your things and get ready to leave," he said.

"But we're so close," Scott tried to desperately reason.

"I've made my decision," Xavier said. Scott nodded and turned back to the lake. Maybe they were right. Maybe they couldn't find anything because there was nothing to find. He sighed and began packing the machines. He'd almost killed Logan for it. For nothing. Scott paused and looked to where Storm and Logan were sitting. Logan struggled to get up, shakily rising from the beach chair. Storm was at his side in a second to support some of his weight. Together, they began shuffling to the jet. To Scott. Scott wasn't ready to face them, either of them. Storm looked at Scott neutrally as they passed but didn't say a word. Scott sighed again; it was going to be a long flight home.

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Psst. I like reviews! Hit the button down there! 


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Here (after much procrastination) is the second chapter of the story that now has a title! Much thanks to my new beta, Liz. If you like this at all, you better thank her, too. She gave me lots of helpful suggestions.

Now, I want lots of reviews! They give me that warm fuzzy feeling. It's nice. Right, well... Enjoy!

* * *

Rogue hung up the phone and locked eyes with Peter from across the hotel lobby. He carefully waded through the sea of mutant children to her side and regarded her with a questioning look. 

"Professor says they're coming home. I figure two of us should stay here and help the kids pack, and two of us should go to the mansion and start getting tents and stuff ready," she explained.

After returning to the mansion following the attack, they had found shaky staircases, doors filled with bullet holes, several charred ceilings, and other remnants of where the students had tried to defend themselves. Overall, the mansion was useable. However, Xavier was no fool, and he wasn't a newcomer to war and invasion. He knew that the soldiers more than likely mapped the entire property, including the secret passages. For this reason, he'd decided to rebuild the entire mansion.

So, after staying in the debilitated mansion for about a week, arrangements were made for the junior team and the students to stay in a nearby hotel while the construction teams worked on disassembling the old mansion and building the new school based on the blueprint that the professor had drawn up. Unfortunately, the workers had only managed to demolish the old mansion so far, and now the students were returning to what could only be described as an empty field. Despite the fuss that the hotel owner was making about having to rent out the entire hotel to a bunch of schoolchildren, Peter was sure that a little money from Xavier's inexhaustible supply would've bought them a place to stay for as long as they wanted it. However, building or no, the school was safer for the students. Having everyone on campus also meant that someone could be working on the mansion 24/7 and that the students could return to their usual classes earlier.

Peter nodded, glancing around the lobby. His eyes finally settled on a late teenage girl, who was settled in front of the TV, cheering on the two boys that were playing some video game.

"And Jubilee?" he asked Rogue, humor slightly tingeing his question. Rogue sighed and tucked the white streak in her chestnut hair behind her ears.

"She's staying here with you. The rest of us will go pitch tents. Be nice," she added as she started toward the hotel door. Peter looked around their temporary home, taking in the hard, green carpet, the hideous paintings on the walls, the harsh lighting, and the nauseating patterned furniture. Sleeping in a tent might be a welcome change.

Peter, Rogue, Bobby, and Kitty had been put in charge of the students while Logan, Scott, Ororo, and Charles were at Alkali Lake. The four had taken to the job nicely, but Jubilee was not happy about it. She was just as old as the other four, but she tended to get into more trouble. As punishment, Xavier had left Jubilee and Seth, her boyfriend and partner-in-crime, off the baby-sitter roster. Seth couldn't care less. He preferred not having to spend his days making sure little kids didn't get themselves killed. Jubilee, on the other hand, was being driven crazy by the fact that all her friends were in charge. They'd finally taken pity on her and had appointed her the "Honorary Vice Baby-sitter In Chief." Jubilee busied herself with waiting hand and foot on her charges. She was taking her responsibility very seriously.

"All right, guys," Peter called over the din of the children, his deep Russian voice bouncing around the crowded lobby turned playroom. "Professor X just called and gave us the clear to go home." The students cheered in unison. Peter waited until the room was quiet again before continuing. "Jubilee and I are here to help you with your bags while Kitty, Rogue, and Bobby set up tents at home. The mansion isn't finished yet, but it's home, right?" The kids nodded to each other. After a moment, Peter added, "Well, get to it!" with a grin that sent the students scattering to their rooms. Jubilee picked herself off the floor and walked to his side.

"Did they find anything?" she asked him. Peter regarded the Oriental Californian with a sigh. He shook his head.

"I don't know. Rogue spoke to him," he said.

"Oh," Jubilee paused, staring at the ground forlornly. "It's sad, what happened to them." Peter looked down at her.

"It happened to you, too," he said, remembering that Jubilee was one of the students who had been kidnapped.

"But not like that," she said with a sad half-smile. "They were our poster couple, ya know? Long as there was Jean and Scott, we'd be okay." Peter nodded. He looked out one of the lobby windows, his gaze landing on Bobby and Rogue walking hand and hand.

"I guess they're our new couple," Peter said, gesturing out the window. Jubilee grinned and walked to the stairwell.

"I'm gonna go help Liz." Peter nodded absently and continued staring out the window.

* * *

"Hey, Bobby! Toss me a few stakes!" Kitty shouted as Bobby dug through a box of tenting supplies. He nodded and threw several stakes in the girl's general direction. "Bobby!" she complained when they landed a good 20 feet away. Bobby jogged across the meadow that had once been their grand mansion, picking up the stakes on his way. He dropped them at Kitty's feet with a grin. 

"Close enough?" he asked jokingly. She looked up at him, trying to hide a smile.

"You mean I have to bend down?" she asked innocently.

"Yup, get down there," he kidded, a hand on her head forcing her to the ground. With the laugh, she wriggled away from his grasp and yanked his leg out from under him. Bobby joined her on the ground with a chuckle.

"Guys! Come one! I don't wanna be here all day!" Rogue yelled from across the field. Bobby paused in his play just long enough to cast a skeptical glance around the nearly empty lot. Three scattered tents stuck up pathetically in the shadows of a building's skeleton.

"I think we're going to be here all day anyway," he called. Kitty took advantage of his turned back and tackled him, slamming his face into the soft ground. She scampered over his fallen body and ran to where Rogue was wrestling with a tent.

"Let me help you with that," Kitty said innocently. She knelt across from Rogue and started yanking on the tent. Bobby had regained his balance and was sprinting over. Kitty pretended not to notice and rolled her eyes. "Boys just don't mature as quickly as we do," she commented to Rogue with mock superiority. Rogue offered her a half smile as she pegged a corner down.

Bobby ended his charge with a flying leap, intending to land on Kitty. Rogue watched gleefully without saying a word. Kitty remained oblivious to the flying teenager. Bobby crashed into Kitty, or rather, through Kitty with a bang. Kitty impassively watched his head crack into Rogue's jean-clad knees. He looked up at the girls with a shocked lop-sided grin. Kitty shook her head.

"Nice one, Drake."

* * *

Rogue sat on the edge of the skeleton frame of what would be a 3-story building. She let her legs dangle gently over the side of the 2nd floor. The new design of the mansion split the school into 4 buildings. The guest building was a small building made specifically for guest to register, deliver packages, and get information. It also housed Xavier's office and bedroom as well as the guestrooms for visitors to sleep in. The dorms for the students and the rest of the staff were located in a 4-story monster building surrounded by lush gardens and all sorts of outdoor sport courts. Then there was the actual school, the building she was sitting on right now. When it was finished, it would be equipped with the most advanced labs, classrooms, and teacher offices to date. It would also have a large music studio and an expansive art room. Xavier had skimped on nothing, resulting in a nearly perfect school. Well, when it was finished. 

The fourth building, the only one that was even close to being finished, contained the gym and the auditorium. As the overly plush, comfy auditorium hadn't been completed, everyone was living in the gym. Unfortunately, the gym reminded Rogue an awful lot of some sort of unconstitutional jail. They slept in sleeping bags spread over the cold, hard wooden floor and had almost no privacy. Personally, Rogue was getting back pain and was constantly on edge in case someone got too close to a bit of uncovered skin. She stretched her aching body and pulled herself pack to the present.

She squinted her eyes against the vibrant evening sun, which burned the previously bright blue sky in a cascade of shimmering pinks, oranges, reds, and purples. Rogue had always been fascinated with the sky. It just seemed so... all encompassing. But now, she was scanning the horizon not for clouds that looked like George Clooney or her grandmother's magnolia tree but for Ororo Munroe, one of the people working on the 6 – 10 PM construction shift with her. Ororo had used her control of nature's winds to fly to the estate's massive but regal iron gates, where the supplies were being stored, to get some more nails. But that was over 10 minutes ago. It wasn't like they were in a rush or anything; she and Ororo were a good 15 minutes early. The others that would be working with them usually languished over dinner and wouldn't be there for at least another 10 minutes. Still, how long did it take to grab a few boxes of nails?

Rogue leaned her head back, determined to enjoy the dying embers of sunlight that were flitting across her face and neck. She was just jumpy since the attack on the mansion. That's what she'd been telling herself since they got home from Alkali Lake. The feeling of unease had been growing in the pit of her stomach while the X-men were digging around at Alkali. By the time Xavier had called the junior team at the hotel, she'd nearly convinced herself that some apocalyptic event was well underway. But when the call came, Rogue breathed a sigh of relief and decided to ignore the sense of impending doom that still remained. Maybe she was just paranoid now. It would make sense after –

"You awake?" came a gruff question from an equally gruff Canadian just to the right of her ear. Rogue jumped, nearly throwing herself from her precarious perch. Logan reached out and steadied her by grabbing the back of her jacket and shoving her a few extra inches from the edge. "Easy, kid," he warned as he swung himself from the top of the ladder onto the building.

"Christ, Logan!" she exclaimed, pushing herself to he feet. Where did he get off on being so quiet! "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Are you?" he echoed with a smirk.

"No, I'm not. And of course I'm awake!" she paused, her heart rate returning to normal. Her eyes settled once again on the breath-taking sky. "I was just enjoying the sunset. It's beautiful, ya know?" Logan nodded and carefully lowered himself to the spot she'd vacated. The wood creaked ominously beneath his weight, but he ignored it and patted the space beside him. She eyed it skeptically. "Can it hold me, too?" He looked at the structure under him as though seeing it for the first time, then met her eyes with an amused grin.

"I hope so. It's gotta hold another story later." Smiling at her own stupidity, she settled at his side contentedly.

"You're here early," she commented absently, her attention again focused on the conflagration burning billions of miles above them. Logan grunted some excuse and spread himself on the sun warmed wood. Rogue couldn't quite stifle the laugh that surged up in her throat when she next looked at him. She couldn't help but liken him to her old calico cat, Trax. He was sprawled on his back with one hand tucked under his head and the other half-scratching his stomach with a languidness that could only come from a cocky assurance that he was in complete control. Eyes that had been closed in utter relaxation popped open at her laughter.

"What?" he asked, a slight furrow creasing his brow. Rogue's own eyes widened at his question. Deep hazel eyes penetrated her as her giggles died as quickly as they'd begun. She frantically searched for a response while he stared at her with eyes that missed nothing. She couldn't very well tell him that he reminded her of a mangy old cat she'd had when she was 7.

"Just a thought," she said in an attempt to play it safe. He raised an eyebrow but closed his eyes again. "Ya know, we need to get you some new clothes," Rogue added, eyeing his clothes disdainfully. Logan looked down at his raggedy clothes. The oil stains on his wifebeater, the threadbare quality to his jeans, and the tears in his rough leather jacket apparently escaped his notice.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" he asked curiously. She sighed and looked him over with a critical eye.

"Your jacket has bloodstains!"

"So?" Rogue grinned at him; he really didn't get it.

"So they shouldn't be there! It's just… grody."

"Grody?" he asked, his face graced with an amused smirk and a wicked gleam lit his eyes.

"Hey, look! Storm's here!" she said with more enthusiasm than strictly necessary, springing to her feet and thanking the woman's impeccable timing. She hadn't meant to say "grody" in front of Logan. He was going to bust her butt about that forever! It was just some stupid made-up word she used with Jubes and Kitty. It was like the teenage girl translation of "gross." To make it worse, Rogue felt heat rising in her cheeks.

Storm let her winds lower her to the 2nd floor, her long, snow-white hair gently billowing around her face in the warm evening air. Ororo looked from Logan's devilish grin to Rogue's burning cheeks and cast a curious glance at the younger woman. Rogue shook her head almost imperceptibly and stepped forward to retrieve a few boxes of nails.

"How's Kurt?" she asked, correctly guessing the only thing that could hold Ororo. Storm subconsciously shoved Kurt's latest letter deeper into her pocket with her free hand as her eyes settled on the sinking sun.

"He's fine. Right now, he's visiting the Cistine Chapel."

"That all he had to say?" Rogue asked while she leveled one of the support beams.

"That's all that was interesting," Ororo answered, glancing meaningfully at Logan with guarded eyes before returning her sight to Rogue. The junior X-woman nodded understandingly and began to noisily pound nails into the frame just below Logan's head. He pulled away from her wild swings immediately. Was she trying to decapitate him or just give him a headache with all that racket? Regardless, one look at Ororo quickly explained Rogue's sudden barrage against the plywood. Storm's heart was pulsing in his ears almost as loudly as Rogue's hammering a few feet away.

"Alright!" he said, his voice overpowering Rogue's hammer attack. She stilled her hammer, allowing it to hang limply at her side. Logan grabbed his own hammer, some 2 by 4's, and a box of nails before starting down to the other end of the building. "You want your girl talk, go ahead. But keep your voices down," he added, reminding them of his super sensitive ears. Rogue gave him a chance to get about 100 feet away before she burst into giggles.

"Was it that obvious?" she asked, staring at the hammer like it was a foreign object. Ororo nodded, a rich laugh of her own joining the evening's natural music. "So what did Kurt really say?" Rogue questioned curiously as she dropped indian style on one huge pile of plywood, her work completely forgotten. Ororo smiled softly and turned to one of the walls. She hadn't confided in anyone since Jean's death. Rogue was a bit young to truly understand some of her problems, but Ororo was seriously craving some chat time. And Rogue obviously suspected something between her and Kurt, even if she wasn't completely sure.

"Well, just the standard 'wish you were here' sort of thing," she allowed, her back still to the other woman.

"Did he say when he's coming home?" Rogue asked, shifting on the wood stack as several splinters dug through her jeans. Storm continued to occupy herself with the construction as the conversation moved on.

"That's the thing," she said. "Kurt doesn't know if this place is his home. He said that's why he's going to all the ancient churches. He's looking for some guidance – kind of like a sabbatical."

"But why? The professor invited him to stay, didn't he?" Rogue said, giving up on her seat in lieu of getting some real work done. Ororo nodded.

"Yes, Charles even suggested that Kurt just be a teacher and forget about the team until he's comfortable with the idea."

"Woah – why doesn't he want to join the team?"

"In case you haven't noticed, he's not exactly the most pugnacious person on the planet, Rogue. Fighting, even for a good cause, just isn't in his nature."

"So, if the professor already worked it out, why's he need to seek 'guidance?'" Rogue wondered aloud. Ororo turned a smile tugging at her lips.

"Never try to understand men," she said with a shrug. Rogue laughed and nodded in agreement.

"So do you guys think you have something?" she asked, lowering her voice further. Storm sighed.

"I think we _could_ have something… someday," Ororo revealed cryptically. "We'll just have to wait and see." After a comfortable moment of hammering, she added, "He invited me to go church touring with him. I said no. I mean, this school is my life! I can't just take off whenever I feel like it! I guess I'm just torn between _possible_ romance and home. Have you ever had that problem?" When Rogue didn't answer after a minute, Ororo assumed that she'd asked Rogue one of those questions that the girl couldn't answer. Hoping that she hadn't made the situation too awkward, she changed the subject. "Can you hand me that screwdriver? These nails are impossible, don't you think?"

Another minute passed in silence.

"Rogue?" Ororo turned her head to the space Rogue had been working. She wasn't there. With increasing anxiety, she turned from the wall she was working on and took in the entire roof. Logan worked alone at the other end. Storm raced to the opposite side, and leaning on one of the support beams, looked down. "Rogue!"

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-ahem- Aren't you forgetting something? That's right, click the review button. You know you want to. You know I want you to. Just make us both happy. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello! Here's chapter 3, finally. This took me waaaay too long to revise. School's been crazy lately, but, hey! It's here now :) Again, lots of thanks to Liz (my editor - for you non informed people out there). I tried to add more exposition to it like she suggested... I hope I got it right.

Oh, and Wen1? I know I told you that you would get Scott in this chapter, and originally, you did! I swear! But then the chapter was really long, so Liz convinced me to chop it into two chapters. Unfortunately, Scott is now in Chapter 4... but on the bright side, you'll get Chapter 4 in a few days! Please don't hurt me! -gives cookies-

And remember people, I love reviews! Even if they're bad reviews. -nods-

* * *

Rogue didn't remember falling from the roof. She didn't remember the pain that must have coursed through her body on impact. She didn't remember Ororo's screams or Logan picking her up. Nor did she remember Xavier telling them to take her to the hospital. 

She was glad.

Of course, it did make waking up in a hospital room with an elderly double-gloved nurse checking her vitals that much more startling. Despite the two layers of gloves protecting the woman, Nurse Middleton was watching her unconscious patient with wide, fearful eyes. When Rogue's eyes opened, slowly adjusting to the harsh hospital lighting, Middleton nearly jumped out of her skin. Offering the older woman a smile didn't help either. Apparently, being noticed at all by the mutant was worse than selling your soul to the devil in this woman's eyes. Rogue watched the stout nurse run into the hall with a morbid fascination that could only be brought on by painkillers.

"Doctor!" Middleton cried seemingly to any doctor nearby. She swallowed the panic that was clearly seeping into her voice in a vain attempt to compose herself. One of the doctors in hall jogged over to the room and ushered the nurse back inside. "The patient's awake," she murmured as the doctor began looking over Rogue's charts.

"Rogue Xavier, is it?" he asked, his friendly demeanor remaining despite the word MUTANT printed in large bold letters that were impossible to miss on the top of every page on the clipboard. She nodded, taking in the amiable face. He was a middle-aged man with curly black hair and stark blue eyes. Broad shoulders and a thick midsection were concealed beneath his green scrubs and lab coat. "And what were you doing on a roof, Ms. Xavier?" he asked companionably as donned a double set of gloves and began taking her vitals. Rogue managed to offer him a meek smile through the fog in her head. "Doctor Coleman?" the all but forgotten nurse questioned. "Mrs. Wilkerson…"

"Of course," Coleman said, nodding the nurse away. "But you may want to inform this young lady's family that she's awake." Middleton nodded and reluctantly walked down to the waiting room.

"Mr. and Mrs. Xavier?" she called into the room. She forced herself to take a calming breath when she saw the couple that rose from their chairs. They just screamed mutant. Well, what could be expected from a mutant patient than more mutants? Ororo Munroe looked first at the terrified nurse and then at Logan who was currently glaring at the traumatized woman. She swatted his arm and shot him a stern look.

"Is Rogue alright?" Ororo asked Nurse Middleton in a calm, unassuming tone. With a sniff, Middleton turned on her heel and led them down the hall to Rogue's room.

"The doctor will see you now," she said stiffly over her shoulder. The duo behind her exchanged a glance but followed regardless. She stopped abruptly before the patient's room and walked away just as suddenly. Ignoring the obvious rudeness, Storm tapped lightly on the open door.

"Ah, please, come in," Doctor Coleman said heartily. He shook hands with Ororo and began introducing himself as Logan went immediately to Rogue's bedside.

"What's wrong with her?" Logan asked, interrupting the small talk. His voice was low but carried through the room better than a scream would have. Rogue gently weaved her hand up his covered arm.

"I'm okay, Logan," she said softly, her voice calming him slightly. There was no need for him to go berserk on the one person who'd been nice to her here. He glanced down at her face and forced himself to relax, despite the gash on her forehead.

"Well, it seems that Ms. Rogue here has managed to break her leg and a few ribs. She's got a mild concussion along with a few bumps and scrapes. We've got her on some painkillers right now, but we can send her home any time," he said. "Just try to stay off the roof from now on, huh?" he joked at Rogue. She nodded shyly and grinned.

"Oh, she's not getting anywhere near that damn roof again," Logan growled, his hands balling into fists.

"Logan," Storm warned. "Not now." Dr. Coleman smiled tightly and motioned to the door.

"Unfortunately, I've got other patients to attend to. Make sure she gets lots of rest, drinks lots of fluids, all that good stuff. The attendant at the front desk can hook you guys up with anything you need. Oh, and do give Professor Xavier my regards." Ororo nodded politely and saw him to the door. Logan squatted beside the bed and looked at Rogue seriously.

"You sure you're okay, kid?"

"I'm fine." She paused, smoothing the hospital blanket. "Thanks for coming. It means a lot. I know these places drive you nuts."

"No problem. I said I'd take care of you, didn't I?" he said, giving her a strained grin.

"Yeah." She looked up, as though as were going to say something else, but ducked her head again when Ororo returned to the bed.

"How are you feeling, Rogue?" she asked, concern masking her usually serene features.

"I'm okay, Ms. Munroe." Rogue looked from Logan to Ororo dubiously. "Mr. and Mrs. Xavier?" Storm laughed and even Logan cracked a grin. It did seem a bit ridiculous.

"C'mon. Let's get outta here," Logan said, reminding the group of his aversion to all things medical.

"I'll go fill out the release forms," Ororo said in response. The last thing they needed was for Logan to start a fight at the front desk. "You get Rogue out to the car." He nodded absently as she left the room. Rogue eased her legs over the side of the bed, examining her cast with interest.

"I always wanted one of these when I was a kid," she said, running her bare fingers over the rough surface. "Sign it for me?"

"You should just let me heal you," he said even as he reached for a marker sitting in tray of the mini white board beside the bed.

"It's not life or death; just a broken leg," Rogue answered, rolling her eyes for emphasis as he scrawled his name on her plaster-encased leg.

"But you don't need to have it. I could fix you right up. It'd only take a few seconds," he argued. He capped the marker and dismissively tossed it on the bedside table.

"I don't want to hurt you." She looked at his signature skeptically. "That's it? Just your name?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You were expecting hearts and flowers?" She sighed and flopped back onto the bed. He grabbed the marker back and underlined his name with a smug grin. "Better?"

"Worlds better," she answered sarcastically without raising her head. Logan broke.

"Let me heal you, Marie."

"No!" she exclaimed, sitting up with a start. "There's no reason to-"

"No reason to! Your leg's broken! You've got head trauma!"

"It's a mild concussion! I'll get some sleep, take some aspirin, and be fine!"

"Or I could heal you, and you'll be fine now!"

"You're being ridiculous!" she shouted at him. Their voices had been steadily rising and were beginning to attract the attentions of the people in the hall. One nurse was staring warily through the window, her eyes fixed on Logan's angry face. It was clear that she was having doubts as to how Rogue really got hurt. Rogue glanced from Logan to the nurse and back again, sighing to relieve her frustration. "We aren't going to do this here," she said calmly. "Ms. Munroe will be waiting in the car. Let's go." Logan followed her gaze to the nurse, who locked eyes with him defiantly. He broke contact and swore under his breath as he reached for the wheelchair that had been pushed into a corner of the room.

"Alright," he said, his voice lowered considerably. "But we _will_ finish this," he added, scooping her up from the bed and gently depositing her into the chair. "Good?"

"Good," she answered, relaxing while he pushed her out of the room. Rogue smiled sweetly at the suspicious nurse, who turned from the couple, determined to look over the girl's file. The Xavier's were a powerful and respected family, even in modern days, but maybe the next generation wasn't so honorable.

* * *

Ororo was leaning against the side of the car when they arrived. She glanced at them curiously but didn't say anything about how long it took them. Instead, she waited for Logan to put Rogue in the back seat and then, ran the wheelchair back inside to get away from the tension that was growing between the two. When she got back, Rogue was sitting in the back seat where she'd left her, but Logan was passed out awkwardly in the front. 

"What happened!" she asked, though she had a feeling she already knew. Rogue was staring vacantly through the front window, a blank expression clouding her face. Her now-gloved fingers danced over Logan's hand, which was lying limply in her lap. "Rogue, tell me what happened," Storm repeated urgently when the girl showed no sign of hearing her. She raised her hands to her student's face, stopping mere centimeters from her skin. Feeling useless, Ororo dropped her hands and, instead, picked up Logan's, which was stretched uncomfortably through the gap between the front seats. She moved the unconscious man's arm into his own seat and reached around the chair back to check his pulse. It was thready but strong enough to assure her that there was no lasting damage. She turned back to Rogue.

"It's okay, Rogue. He's going to be fine," she reassured her, though Rogue seemed not to hear her. Ororo sighed, carefully shut the car door, and walked around to the driver's side.

* * *

Oddly enough, Logan had still not woken up by the time that they returned to the mansion almost 20 minutes later. He hadn't been out this long when he'd stabbed Rogue through the chest! Something was definitely off. Having sensed her mental distress, Peter and Charles were waiting for them when she pulled up.  
"Rogue absorbed Logan!" she told them as she got out of the car. "He still hasn't woken up." Xavier watched as Peter began pulling Logan's unconscious body from the front seat. 

"How long ago?" he asked calmly. Peter saw Rogue's shell-shocked face staring through him from her seat.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked with concern. Rogue was usually shaken up after using her power, but it was never this bad. It really made him wonder just how many extra minds her young mind could hold without breaking. And how much of his mind Logan could give before he lost his sense of self.

"I don't know. I found her like that after I took her wheelchair back. She hasn't moved, won't speak to me-" Ororo's voice trailed off as Xavier opened Rogue's door. He positioned himself beside her and gently probed her mind. Dismayed, he found a strong mental barrier blocking him. The girl was given some natural mental defense from her mutation but nothing like this.

"Rogue," he said gently, "I need you to let me in." He strengthened his presence in her mind, just on the outside of the wall. Obligingly, a small hole appeared before him, so he could slip through her defenses. Unbeknownst to Peter and Ororo, Charles hurried past the wall and burrowed himself deep in Rogue's subconscious.

Rogue's mind was full of other mentalities. On Xavier's limited path alone, he felt Logan, Sabertooth, Erik, and a rampant teenage boy all roaming in plain "sight". Charles called out for Rogue's personality, extending tendrils of his own consciousness to look for her as he did so. He'd searched every crevice of her mind and had found Bobby, John, Logan (again), a trucker or two, Scott, and a small dose of Jean. But not Rogue. He was about to give up when suddenly, Rogue was right on the surface of her mind.

"Oh, hi, Professor," Rogue said cheerily. Her lilting voice echoed as he heard her in her mind as well as in his physical ears. Rogue looked around with confusion. "Uh, what's going on?" she asked, noticing the concerned faces surrounding her. Sure, she had fallen off the roof, but she wasn't seriously injured.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked tentatively. The professor looked like he was still concentrating on her mind, which made him wonder if Rogue were really all right. She certainly hadn't looked all right a few short seconds ago. She smiled at him warmly.

"Oh, I'm fine. The doctor at the hospital was really nice. He says I should be back on my feet in a few weeks." She frowned. "Then…Wait… What happened?" she asked, looking to Ororo for answers. "I didn't black out or something, did I?" Ororo looked at her with concern.

"Logan healed you, and I guess you went into shock. Don't you remember?" she asked tenderly.

"No…" the girl trailed off. Her horrified eyes landed on Logan's abandoned body in the front seat. "No!" Her head whipped from Logan to Ororo to Peter to the professor. "What did you do!" she snarled viciously, sounding nearly possessed in her fury. "What did you do to him!" she screamed again. Ororo took a slow step toward Rogue.

"Child, you absorbed him. He'll be okay. Just calm down, Rogue," she said soothingly, her voice low and comforting. She continued trying to calm the frighteningly distraught woman. Peter stood stoically in the spot that Ororo had deserted. His eyes were locked on the professor's face, which was still blankly focused, a sure sign that he was still using his telepathy. The two women continued around Charles as though he weren't there, but Peter's attention never wavered.

"And you!" Rogue screamed harshly, turning from Ororo to Xavier. "Get out of my head, old man!" she hissed through clenched teeth. Charles recoiled sharply from an unseen attack that was quickly followed by Rogue's arms flying into his torso, shoving him so sharply that his chair toppled to the ground beside the car. "Just leave us alone!" Rogue bellowed. "Leave us alone," she sobbed, her anger finally burned out. Ororo crouched by Xavier immediately, trying to right the unconscious man. Peter ran forward and half-carried half-dragged Charles and his wheel chair away from the car. Ororo gave Peter a worried look and glanced back toward the car, where Rogue had slammed the doors shut and was hiding in the front seat beside Logan's still unconscious body.

"Leave them," Peter said roughly, more concerned with the fragile body in his arms than anything Rogue might pull in the car. Ororo continued to watch the car for a moment, then nodded and turned towards the main camp.

"Ms. Munroe?" Kitty asked as she jogged up to the trio. "I heard screaming. What's going on?" Storm just shook her head and walked ahead of Peter.

"Peter, put the professor in his office to rest. Kitty, I need you to find the number for someone named Moira McTaggert." Kitty nodded slowly, glanced at Peter, and turned on her heel to the nearest laptop.

* * *

There they were again. Logan was standing in the Blackbird, watching Jean Grey kill herself, save them. The water of Alkali Lake rushed around her small frame. Her face was contorted in pain and determination as she looked back to meet Scott's eyes. Then, she was gone. That's what happened. Logan's new nightmare. 

But this time, it was different. This time, instead of being washed away as the rush of water overpowered her, she was stronger than the surge and returned safely to the jet. She smiled happily as she boarded, and then everything froze.

Scott had frozen in place halfway into going to hug Jean. His arms were outstretched, and his face was lit merrily. It was the happiest Logan had ever seen him. Storm had turned from the front of the jet with a warm smile. The children were sharing happy looks of relief. Charles seemed surprised, but happy. Nightcrawler was happy, but also detached. Logan looked at Jean. She was moving.

She looked at him. Then she smiled and began walking towards Logan. Her smile was sweet and triumphant, but also sad. It took forever to make it over to him. It seemed like an eternity since he last saw her. Yet, it also seemed like just yesterday. When she finally reached him, she wrapped her arms around him and just hugged him. This shocked Logan more than anything. Now he knew he was dreaming. He pulled away slightly; he knew he would be depressed in the morning if he got too close. Jean looked up with surprise.

"What's wrong?" she asked with confusion. Her voice sounded exactly like he remembered, and he wanted nothing more than to take her back into his arms and tell himself that the last month had been nothing but a dream. He knew he couldn't though. But that needy look in her eyes really wasn't helping.

"This. Everything," he finally answered, waving an arm toward the still scene around them. "You're dead," he said with firm resolution. It sounded as though he was trying to convince himself. Jean merely shook her head.

"You're wrong, on both counts," she said.

"How?" he asked. _I am definitely insane,_ he thought.

"I'm not dead," she said simply. Then her face became grave. "Logan, we have to hurry. I can't stay long. I'm not dead, I'm at Alkali Lake. You have to believe me. Something terrible is going to happen. I saw it. The machine doesn't –" everything flickered. "Your dream is strong. I can't hold it off much longer," a sad look overcame her lovely features. "It's terrible what they did to you. Anyway," she said, as though shaking the topic from her mind. "Tell the Professor. We have to act fast if we want to save ourselves," she continued. She began to blur slightly, as though he were looking at her through someone else's glasses. "How's Scott?" she asked. Logan could tell it was taking an enormous amount of energy to stay. Beads of sweat were all ready beginning to form on her face.

"He misses you," Logan said simply. The three words conveyed more meaning than either of them could truly say. She looked at him, a mix of sadness and bitterness streaming across her face.

"I'm at Alkali Lake, I'll be waiting. Oh, and Logan? It's "Mowtzart" like it has at 't.'" Then, before Logan could respond, she was gone, and his old nightmare overtook him.

* * *

Rogue sat in the front seat quietly in the same position she had been in for the past three hours. Her knees were pulled up to her chin with her arms wrapped around them protectively. She was afraid to sleep because she knew that Logan's nightmare would come. It was hard enough to block out his memories. The most intense image was a picture of something fiery. God only knew what it was, but she couldn't get it out of her head. Just fire. She watched it grow and flicker in her mind's eyes with an almost morbid fascination. No, it was more like awe. The fire was strong. She was so weak in comparison. 

She hastily shook her head, and the image was gone. _Logan's memories are private, and I have no right to look at them_, she scolded herself. _No matter how… odd they are._

Bobby had come by earlier. He had wanted her to come eat dinner, she had told him she wasn't hungry. Then he told her that her favorite movie was on. She told him that she would watch it on the TV in the back seat. She hadn't. He'd come by with ice cream for her and she had told him that if he came back to bug her again, she would punch him from here to Canada. In slightly harsher language.

All she wanted to do was get a firm sense of who she was. That was hard to do when she was still worried about Logan. She knew that she would be worried until he woke up. He had now healed her three times. Three times! The Logan in her head told her not to worry about it, that he was just keeping his promise. The Magneto in her head scoffed at her for needing protection. Bobby was quiet, but she knew he was disappointed that he couldn't save her. But Marie, what did Marie think?

Closing her eyes, Rogue tried to focus on herself. She tried to drown out the other voices. Marie was worried, she was angry that she had to depend on someone, but at the same time, she was happy that she could count on someone. That's what Marie thought. Giving a peaceful sigh, Rogue leaned back against the cool window. As she allowed her body to relax, her mind slipped into an anything but peaceful dream.

Rogue was being held under a strange fluid. Was it water? No, it seemed to have a greenish tint. She couldn't breathe! Who was holding her down? Why wouldn't they let her up? She was going to suffocate!

Then, a masked person came into view. His needle was getting closer and closer to her body, but it just loomed above her. After what seemed like forever, it dug into her skin. Searing pain enveloped her senses as the hot fluid ran through her body. She screamed. Out of nowhere, the pain stopped. Everything did.

She was on the Blackbird. What happened? She could see herself, huddled amongst the other students. Why wasn't she moving? Scott was just standing there, grinning like an idiot, with his arms outstretched. The oddest thing of all was that Jean was standing there, alive and well, talking to Logan. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying, her ears were still ringing from her screams. She inched along the side of the jet, trying to hear what was said. How was she here?

"Anyway, tell the professor. We have to act fast if we want to save ourselves," Rogue heard Jean say. Glancing down to the floor, Marie noticed that everything seemed blurry, it was like she was looking up to the surface of a lake while sitting on the bottom.

"How's Scott?" Jean asked as the jet's image became sharper.

"He misses you," Logan replied. Those three words were simple, but Jean's eyes met Logan's as if she were looking for more. Suddenly, Jean stepped away.

"I'm at Alkali Lake, I'll be waiting. Oh, and Logan? It's 'Mozart' like it has a 't,'" Jean said with a grin. Then, the jet was gone, and Rogue was dropped back into Logan's nightmare.

* * *

Ororo leaned against the counter of the makeshift infirmary and watched Moira McTaggert examine charts and scribble hasty notes in the margins. She pulled out one of Charles's blood samples and added a few drops of some chemical, which made the blood turn an alarming shade of blue. Moira turned and put the cobalt blood in a high-tech (and expensive-looking) machine that began whirring and whining at the touch of a button. 

Storm glanced around the pathetic tent that was shielding her broken leader from the general student body. Charles lay on his back in the middle of a tarp at her feet, looking as lifeless as can be. The only things that assured her of his well-being were the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the mechanical movement of his chest being controlled by the respirator, both of which were sprawled ungraciously on the tarp. It was a sad scene by normal standards and seemed even more sub par in comparison to the elaborate laboratory behind Moira in the view screen of the computer monitor in front of her.

"Could you move me closer to his face?" the tawny red head asked in a clipped Scottish accent.

"How's he doing?" Ororo asked as she held the video camera above Xavier's head. In lieu of coming to Westchester in person (Moira had too many patients at home for that), they'd set up a basic hi-def system, sort of like that of the average family computer camera. They had overnighted a package to Moira's lab, so she had some of Charles's blood to work with, but it was still difficult to treat a person from 8,000 miles away.

"Well, his vitals are finally stabilizing, through there's still no medical reason for them to have gone hay wire in the first place. How's the lass that put him here? Any word from her?" the doctor asked. Ororo glanced at the monitor that displayed Moira's end of the connection. Her deep red hair was pulled back and pinned at the base of her neck, and her sea green eyes glared at the machine before her as her glasses slid down her nose for the millionth time that day.

"Rogue. She finally came out of the car when Logan woke up, maybe a little after. She hasn't been speaking much, but it's understandable. She did mention something about nightmares," Ororo commented.

"Hmm... Other than the vague connection of psychological irregularities, it doesn't sound like they have any shared symptoms. But I'll have you send me some blood samples if she'll allow it," Moira said thoughtfully as she watched the whirring machine come to a shuddery stop. Ororo consented, and the room was invaded with a concerned silence. Both women had much on their minds and no way to release it.

"How's the training going with your new assistant?" Storm asked after a moment, deciding to take solace in companionable niceties.

"Sean is… a bit rebellious, but I think he'll turn out. He's a brilliant boy when he wants to be. Yesterday, he actually finished my DNA profiling for me," Moira chattered enthusiastically. "I'm afraid he's a bit enamored with your school though. Ever since I told him about it, it's all he talks about," she continued with a chuckle. "He keeps telling me I need to come visit and reconnect with old friends." Ororo smiled warmly.

"You know you're both welcome here anytime," she responded, forgetting for a moment that the entire school was living out of tents.

"Thank you, Ororo," Moira said. Then she sighed. "I guess the real reason I've planted myself half way across the globe is because… if I ever go back to Westchester, I'm afraid I won't leave." Storm's grin widened. She knew about the history between Moira and Charles.

"Well, we could use a doctor here," she teased the older Scot.

"Oh, look; the sample's settled!" Moira said with feigned enthusiasm, overtly changing the subject. She plucked the test tube holding the blood sample from the machine and held it up to the light, studying its contents intently. She examined it under her high-resolution microscope for a few minutes before telling Ororo with a sigh, "It's normal." Ororo groaned tiredly.

"This would be so much easier with a telepath."

"Unfortunately, the best telepath we have is the one that's out," Moira sympathized.

"I wish Scott were here," Storm muttered softly. "He's the one that's trained to handle this sort of thing! That's how it used to work anyway. He took care of the team, I took care of the kids." She sighed. "I can handle kids… this is hard." Moira chuckled.

"I'm sure Scott would say the same thing if he had to sort out the teenage drama that you put up with." Then she sobered. "How is Scott holding up?"

"He's in his tent. He's been in his tent since we got here. I try to get him to eat, but I don't think he holds it down… I tried to get him to help on construction, but he just never showed up for his shifts. As far as Scott is concerned, the rest of the world died with Jean." Ororo turned her back to the monitor to fiddle distractedly with one of the poles holding up the tent. "I don't want to push him too hard; he needs time to mourn, and his position here is very stressful…. But he can't just abandon us all. I think I'll give him another week to mope before I make him come back on partial duty." Moira nodded her assent, happy that at least one of the problems had a solution – well, in theory.

* * *

One week turned to two, and Charles woke up on his own, much to the frustration of Moira and Sean, who'd been positive that if they looked long enough, they'd find something physically wrong with his brain. Charles allowed the determined duo to talk him into an MRI at the local hospital to search for changes in his brain structure now that he was awake. They found nothing, and he insisted that he needed to go back to running the school instead of playing lab rat. 

With Xavier back in control, Ororo wasn't as desperate for Scott to be back on active duty. She gave him another week, telling herself that he would come around when he adjusted to Jean's death. After all, it was a huge shock to lose her – they were going to be married. It was only natural that he would need more time than the rest of them.

Rogue, though mortified by her actions, was forgiven readily. She explained that she wasn't in control of herself at the time, though she couldn't give any explanation as to why. Charles understood completely, keeping to himself the knowledge of what he'd found in her mind. He started training her in power control himself again while the others worked on the mansion. Unknown to Rogue, Xavier added mental blocking and shielding to her curriculum, covertly probing for some hidden mental power that she might be unaware of.

The students weren't quite as quick to accept her back into the fold unfortunately. It wasn't their faults really; they'd been taught to fear what they didn't understand, and no one had bothered to explain the situation to them. All they knew was that Rogue had gotten hurt in a construction accident, and when she came back, both Logan and the professor were badly hurt and that she had something to do with it. Rumors flew across the school faster than the speed of light. Rogue had gone crazy and tried to absorb the professor and Logan. Magneto had taken over Rogue's mind and tried to kill them all. Rogue had stolen Logan's power and would've drained him dry if the professor, whom she lashed out at upon being caught, hadn't interrupted her. Rogue was really Mystique and had infiltrated the school as one of Magneto's plans to kill the X-men. The rumors went on and on despite anything that Rogue told them. Of course, the truth wouldn't have been that much better if she told them the whole story anyway.

At least she still had her friends with her. Kitty, Jubilee, Bobby, Seth, and Peter stood by her the whole time. Seth and Peter still seemed a bit jumpy around her, the rumors no doubt taking their effect on them, but they refused to shun Rogue like the rest of the school seemed intent to do. Those few weeks were extremely trying, to say the least, but when the mansion was finally finished and the students were settled in, the rumor mill found a new victim, and all the tales about Cyborg-Rogue and Traitor-Rogue vanished as quickly as the tents that had marred the front lawn.

Classes were resumed were they'd left a few months ago, granted with odd schedules and tons of review. All the students had gathered in a classroom, chattering excitedly at the first day of English class. English was one of Scott's classes, so if they had it in their schedules, it must mean that Scott was back to work. They'd started getting antsy when class hadn't started after 20 minutes. Then, Logan had burst through the classroom door, growling at them to get in their seats and get their damn books out. Needless to say, it was the quietest English class ever. The wide eyed students hadn't doodled, passed notes, chewed gum, or any of the other habits that students tend to pick up when they're in school. They sat and looked straight ahead or down at their books, whichever the moment called for, and spoke only when spoken to. Logan taught all of the English classes and Scott's auto class. The students were just happy when they went into math and saw Ororo at the front of the room. Plenty of things had changed since before the impromptu break, but life went on.

* * *

So, what do you think? Complaints, suggestions, criticism, praise? Click the button! I like reviews! And as a bribe, ice cream and waffles to all who review! 


	4. Chapter 4

I'm a horrible person. Yes, I could bore you with all my excuses, but you've get better things to do. Like read! That said, enjoy the next late chapter of story. ) -cowers- Don't hurt me!

Oh, and as usual, cookies to all reviewers!! Woo.

* * *

Logan hadn't wanted to teach. He especially hadn't wanted to teach _this_ class. He lacked experience, qualification, interest, knowledge, enthusiasm – the list went on. So he picked up a book every now and then; that did _not_ put him on the list to be an English professor. Well, it shouldn't have. 

Of course, his life hadn't been going to plan since he came to Xavier's, so he really shouldn't have been surprised when the head honcho himself called him to the office. The conversation had started, "I need a favor from you, Logan." Logan could do favors; he had credentials for favors. Especially when said favors were a bit on the shady side. Assassinations, kidnapping, "accidents" – Logan could handle those, but even Logan had a line that he just didn't cross. Leave it to Chuck to go so far over the line that when you looked back the line was a speck on the horizon.

It wasn't the fact that Charles wanted him to teach that bothered him. He'd been prepared to be hit up to teach _something_ since he'd decided to move in permanently. No, it was _what _Charles hit him up to teach that caused him to dig in his heels. Auto tech – sure. Phys. Ed. – fine. English – hell no.

And besides, Logan had argued, why didn't they drag Scott out of his hole? Why did Logan have to fill in for him? Naturally, Xavier had a speech for just such questions. Sometimes Logan really hated that telepath.

"Scott's going through a difficult transitionary period at the moment and is not in the best mental capacity to teach such an interpretive class," Xavier had told him. "Ororo is doing her best to teach Scott's math classes while maintaining her previous responsibilities. She simply cannot take on another subject's worth of classes." Maybe Logan was a bitter old coot, but that reasoning just didn't melt him.

So if Logan had been absolutely steadfast in his rejection of teaching, how had he would up standing in front of a group of upperclassmen in his first English class of the day? He was asking himself that same question as he fielded yet another irrelevant question from Michael. He'd half convinced himself that Xavier had taken control of his mind and forced him into the agreement. Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to believe that Xavier's scruples had finally snapped, Logan knew exactly what had gotten him into this situation. That niggling little voice –

"Yo, Logan!" the scruffy junior called from the back of the room. Logan took a deep breath and slowly turned to face the young man. This would _not_ be permanent. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"No," Logan growled, "You already went."

"I have a problem, dude!" the youth protested. The class giggled in response, a roar that made Logan's head throb.

"Bring me a doctor's note," he answered wearily, knowing full well that Michael was completely healthy.

"We don't have a doctor!" the boy exclaimed, pumped up with the class's enthrallment. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Some things in the school were taboo, unmentionable. The mini-Magneto in Rogue's head, why Bobby didn't go home for breaks anymore, what had happened to John, and, above all, Jean's death. Well, maybe not above _all_ (Scott's absence in class was pretty high up there, too), but it was definitely a close second. "Sorry," Michael muttered.

"Get your books out; finish up _A Midsummer Night's Dream_." Silently, the class pulled out their books and began reading. Any one who'd been in Logan's class for any length of time could see his mood darkening rapidly.

Rogue tried to bury herself in the novel; she really did. But she just couldn't relate to a world with fairies and magic love potions. Ironic that someone like her would deem anything to strange for reality. After all, she had life sucking skin and lived at a high school for mutants that had its own super hero team. Nothing should be beyond her imagination by now.

Bobby, too, was having a hard time focusing on the book; she noticed when his eyes crept back open from another slow blink. English wasn't his best subject to start with; the fact that he hadn't gotten more than 3 hours of sleep last night didn't help. Michael's antics usually kept him awake when Scot was teaching, but the class clown had been unusually quiet since Logan took over.

Unfortunately for Logan, his tenuous hold was about to snap.

"So, dude," Michael addressed his teacher, "why do we have to read about these dumb elves anyway?"

"They're fairies, moron," one of the girls corrected with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, like it matters!" he exclaimed boisterously. "But really, when are we ever going to use this?!" It was the question that every teacher dreaded hearing. Unfortunately for Michael, Logan wasn't an average teacher.

"On the 6-page report on Shakespeare's greatest works that's due Wednesday," Logan said to the class as he wiped off the blackboard in front of him. The 30-something students in the English class groaned as they loaded their books into their bags. One girl raised her hand with indignation. After a moment of her arm going unnoticed, she cleared her throat loudly.

"Mr. Logan," she said loud enough to catch the class's attention. "Professor Summers always had us perform one of Shakespeare's great works for our English final." Logan shot the girl an even stare, which was returned to him in equal measure. Breaking the moment, he turned and finished cleaning the board. He took his time before setting the eraser down.

"What's your name, kid?" he asked the girl as he leaned over Scott's desk, one hand on either side of the lesson plan.

"Sherry," she answered promptly.

"Well, Sherry," Logan began, putting special emphasis on her name, "Professor Summers isn't here." He paused to note that the entire class was hanging onto his every word. The tension was building. No one had mentioned Professor Summers publicly since he'd gone into his room a few weeks ago. "You don't like the way I'm running things, by all means, go whine to Summers. While you're at it, tell him I'm sick of doing his job. 6-page report due Wednesday. Class dismissed." The class filtered out quietly. No one wanted to be around the Wolverine when he was in a bad mood; they'd heard about how he'd stabbed Rogue. Oddly enough, she was one of the few people who braved his tempestuous moods.

Now, Rogue was the only one who remained in the classroom. She waved her friends away and walked to the front of the room. Logan looked up from the papers he was shuffling.

"That's pretty harsh, isn't it?" she asked with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

"Is 6 pages too much? I don't remember reading half these books. How many are there?" he asked, his tough teacher facade dropping around her. Rogue walked around the desk and gently took the papers from his hands.

"I meant what you said about Scott," she said, neatly stacking the half-graded sheets and putting them in a folder. "It was awfully rude." Logan was looking out a window absently. He nodded slowly, letting his fingers play across the sunlit glass. "You had that dream again, didn't you?" Again, he nodded and turned from the window to face her.

"She-" Logan began to say, but Rogue cut him off.

"She's dead, Logan," she spat out. Then, softer she said, "The sooner you let her go, the sooner you can move on – we all can move on. I know this is hard for you; it's hard for everyone. But we can't stop living because of it."

"I'm living. I'm living so much that I'm teaching someone else's students," Logan responded with a cold sarcastic laugh. "Go give your speech to someone who needs it, Marie. I'm not the one hiding in my room. I'm not the one trying to kill my supposed 'team mate.'"

"You are just as responsible for that as he is," Rogue said, her "inherited" temper flaring. Logan glanced at her for a moment, sizing her up before returning his attention to the window.

"I still haven't told them that he didn't hit me." Rogue sighed.

"Maybe it's best to forget that part." She paused, idly wiping a gloved finger over the dusty chalkboard. The mansion had enough stress to deal with and enough nightmares to soothe without bringing some maybe alive ghost into the mix. Besides, it was probably just a fluke right? Ororo had said that Logan was pretty beaten up and had suffered a head wound. He'd probably just had such a bad concussion that he didn't remember being hit by Scott's beam. She wouldn't blame him for forgetting."Try to patch things up with Scott. Don't even ask me why it should be you to bring him around either. No one's going to do it for you. So, bring him back to the real world," she paused again with a playful grin. "Unless you want to teach his classes for the rest of your days."

* * *

Bobby wandered aimlessly through the halls after English, drifting from one wing to another with no real destination in mind. He used to spend this 90-minute free period with Rogue, but since Logan had taken over Scott's position, she'd been spending all of her free time in his class, grading papers and helping him with his lessons. At least she was still eating lunch with them. He sighed and ghosted into the art studio, letting his fingers slide across the cool ivory keys of the grand piano in one corner. He'd been able to play at one time, before his mutation had manifested. It had been one of the compromises he'd made to his mother; he could play any sports he wanted as long as he kept his grades up and took music lessons. 

He sat on the piano bench and rested his hands on the keys before he struck the first note. It rang through the studio with a sharp clarity that made it sound even more beautiful. From there, the music flowed freely from his hands. Bits of concertos that he remembered, his favorite songs, little ditties that his mother had taught him, and a strange mix of his own creation all floated from his mind to his fingers, from his fingers to the room around him. He was so caught up in the music that he didn't notice the girl until she was standing right beside him.

"Sounds good," she said, startling him into completely losing his place. He blinked repeatedly, pulling himself out of his trance.

"Uh, thanks," Bobby muttered as he glanced up at the girl. She wasn't someone he recognized. She must have been in the painting section of the art studio because colorful paints smeared across her chocolate skin and the large smock that covered her body. Long, dark, wavy hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail to reveal large brown eyes with the vaguest of gold flecks sparkling from their depths.

"I hope you don't mind. I heard you playing from over there," she gestured to one of the easels toward the back of the art section where an array of paints and brushes were scattered, "and I just had to comment. I've never heard anything like that in person."

"Thanks," Bobby repeated with a grin. "I'm really out of practice though." Then after a pause, "I don't think I've seen you around; what's your name?"

"Tiffani," she said, returning his smile.

"Bobby Drake," he answered her unasked question. He extended his hand, but she waved her own paint stained hand apologetically. "Right..." he said, lowering his arm."So, whatcha working on?" Tiffani's face lit up, and she grabbed his hand, now mindless of the paint. He let himself be dragged to the easel easily.

The painting was an exquisite oil painting that featured... a furry, clawed hand?

"Sabertooth is a weird inspiration, but it's a great painting."

"Sabertooth? You mean like a sabertooth tiger?" Tiffani questioned cluelessly.

"No, uh, it looks just like this guy that used to work with the Brotherhood, but he's dead now..." Bobby explained.

"The Brotherhood?"

"Never mind. So, what _did_ you use for inspiration then?" he asked as he studied the claws.

"My hand," she answered absently, dabbing at a corner of the canvas. Bobby's eyes flew to her hand, the one that had just bathed his in paint. It was completely normal. "Oh, not this hand," she clarified, noting his confusion. "This one."

Tiffani flexed her hand before her face and boredly watched as her hand morphed into the clawed paw from the painting. Lightly dappled amber fur sprouted along the delicate hand, and bones snapped and groaned as they stretched and crumpled, mutating into something much less than human. Her human nails were replaced with a matching set of wicked, dagger-like claws. Bobby cringed as wiggled her paw, eliciting a myriad of pops from the freshly formed joints.

"This is actually mid-morph; all the way would look completely jaguar," she explained before changing her hand back to its original form with another bout of sickening music. Bobby's grimace fell to a grin as the fur shrank back into her skin.

"That is so cool," he breathed. "So, you're a shapeshifter, right?"

"I guess that's what you'd call it," she murmured, distractedly fiddling with minute details on the outskirts of the painting.

"So what do they call you?" he asked. Her eyes narrowed and her brow scrunched as she regarded him with her full attention for first time.

"My name's Tiffani," she said slowly. Bobby's eyebrows shot up in a declaration of surprise before his face returned to normal.

"Oh, so you're just here to go to school!"

"Isn't that why you're here?" Only half of her mind was with him as she again began fussing with her masterpiece.

"Uh, yeah, of course. That's why we're all here." Bobby cleared his throat and glanced around the room for a change of subject. Luckily, Tiffani provided him with one.

"So, Bobby Drake," she said with a smile, "What's your mutation?"

"I make ice," he answered confidently before replayed the words in his mind. "I mean, I'm not a human ice machine or anything! Not like VVSSHHH!!" he said, doing his best imitation of his gram's old icemaker, his arms flailing about in an attempt to illustrate his point. His mouth kept going, throwing out wild explanations - why was he still talking? _Shut up, Bobby!_ he screamed in his head. After moment, Tiffani's hands stilled his arms before he could knock over one of the precariously balanced tins of paint.

"Why don't you just show me?" she suggested, glancing around to assure herself that the room was intact.

"Right..." he said with sheepish grin. He extended his hand and watched triumphantly as a 3-D version of Tiffani's morphed hand appeared on top of one of the paint cans. Transfixed, she squatted, putting herself on eye level with the icy paw. Of its own accord, her human finger traced one of the delicate claw arches then rubbed the slippery water that had dripped onto her fingers. It was already melting. Regardless, she stood and seemed to intently consider Bobby's full measure for a moment before looking him dead in the eye.

"Have you ever thought about being a sculptor?"

"You mean with something other than ice?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "Nah, not really."

"You've got an eye for detail," she said her voice returning to its previous disinterested tone. Tiffani worked silently while Bobby shuffled his feet and cast his eyes around the room, fishing for a new topic of conversation. He was just about to make another attempt of befriending the girl when a small, adorably scruffy dog padded into the room, nails clicking on the smooth, hard floor and short floppy ears bouncing jauntily. He watched the dog cross the room without so much of a sniff at anything but Tiffani. It plopped itself at her feet and rested a paw on her sandaled feet.

"And where'd he put it?" she asked without looking up from her work. The little dog cocked its head and sat back on its haunches.

"What?" Bobby asked, assuming that Tiffani was talking to him.

"Shh," Tiffani said, shooting him a sharp glance that commanded obedience. His eyebrows shot up, but he stood silent until she nodded.

"I'll get it for you, but then we have to go to chemistry." Then she turned back to Bobby. "Sorry, one of the kids put Plio's toy on top of the refrigerator; we'll talk at lunch, 'kay?"

"Sure, you can meet my friends then, too. I mean… if you wanna, that is." She nodded absently, already on the way to the door. "Right…" he muttered to himself once she'd disappeared. "Smooth, Drake." He still had 20 minutes to blow. His eyes once again circled the room until they landed on the painting beside him. Professor always took a particular interest in the artists at the school, and, for sure, he'd want to see this one. And Bobby knew just the person to help get her noticed.

* * *

Logan stood before Scott's door, still too reluctant to knock. Once again, he raised his hand to the paneled oak, and, once again, he dropped his hand to his side limply. He'd been trying to figure out how to talk to Scott all morning. Conversations flowed through his mind like a raging river, but none of them sounded quite right. The words just never formed correctly. 

Logan stopped.

Since when did he care about giving speeches? Logan had always run purely by listening to his instincts. He'd never given things too much thought before, and he'd always come out fine so far. Why should this be any different?

Determinedly, Logan's hand landed on the polished doorknob and, very slowly, turned it. The door opened with a low creak, and Logan was greeted by the stink of stale, putrid air. Hiding his disgust, he walked into the room and ripped the blankets from the bed before Scott could say a word. Quickly, he yanked open a dresser drawer and pulled out some clothes. Scott lifted his head from the now permanent indentation in his pillow to glare at Logan. He was about to complain when Logan threw a bundle of clothes at him, smacking him squarely in the face. Scott brushed the clothing aside, growing angrier by the second.

"Get in the shower and get dressed," Logan ordered, finally coming to a stand-still in the center of the room.

"Fuck you," Scott spat back. Logan raised an eyebrow with amusement.

"You learned how to cuss. Good job, Scooter," he answered without missing a beat. "Now, get in the shower; you smell like shit."

"Why should I listen to you?" Scott returned with a glare. Logan took in the broken leader's appearance with disdain. His hair was greasy and bed rumpled. Scott's usually clean-shaven face was now covered in long stubble. He smelled disgusting and was wearing the same clothes as when he'd gone into seclusion several weeks ago.

"Because you need someone to listen to," Logan finally answered.

"Oh, and you're the perfect choice for that position," Scott said sarcastically. With lightning quick speed, Logan grabbed Scott by the back of the neck and hauled him from the bed.

"Exactly. I won't take your shit. Ya know why?" he asked calmly, his voice in complete contradiction to his actions. Scott pulled himself free of Logan's grasp and wordlessly watched Logan. "Because we're all going through the same thing. You're just not handling it well."

"We aren't going through the same thing, Logan," he said, rubbing at the back of his sore neck.

"You're not the only one who loved her," Logan said quietly.  
"Well, you sure as hell didn't – not for anything that mattered."

"Get in the damn shower!" Logan shouted, shoving Scott into the bathroom in a burst of white-hot anger. Scott stumbled before quickly regaining his balance.

"Why do you care? You hate me anyway!" he shouted back, knowing full well what he was provoking. He didn't care anymore. Any pain Logan caused him would be a welcome release from the hell he was going through now. Logan, on the other hand, had other ideas. Logan took a deep breath and gathered the clothes he'd pulled out earlier.

"I don't give a damn about you, Scott. But you've got a job here. Those kids need you. They deserve more than the piss-poor substitute I've been. So, get cleaned up, and get your ass back out there," he said, handing the clothes to Scott. Scott blinked several times before nodding slightly and shutting the bathroom door. Logan waited silently on the other side until he heard the shower running. Then, he glanced around the room and walked back into the hall, leaving Scott to pull his life together.

* * *

Tiffani was chattering candidly with Bobby and the rest of her new friends. They got on so well that she almost didn't miss Plio's company. Her pup had apparently made some friends of his own and was currently entertaining a lively bunch of 9-year-olds in the rec room. Besides, dogs weren't allowed in the cafeteria anyway. 

Bobby had been a fabulous host, introducing her to each person in turn and filling in the conversation with his own meaningless banter during the lulls. After trading names, the group had exchanged powers. Tiffani was thrilled that the others were interested in her mutation and had gleefully given them a few demonstrations outside Ms. Munroe's classroom. All was well except the comparison that Kitty made about something called a mystique. At her confusion, they'd refused to answer her questions until Bobby had changed the subject.

Tiffani was slowly learning the group's relationships just by watching the others and linking the causes to their effects. For instance, it was obvious that Rogue and Bobby were a couple; what wasn't so obvious was that Kitty had a major crush on said boy. She "casually" perched on the very edge of the table bench instead of taking up a proper amount of space farther down the table.

"Oh my God! Her tests are killer!!" Jubilee, the bubbly girl with a strange affinity for yellow that was sitting to Tiffani's right exclaimed.

"That's nothing! Logan's English class? 6 page essay! For our _final!_" Bobby responded, his voice just this side of squeaky. Beside him, Rogue rolled her eyes behind her sandwich.

"Please, Bobby. You make it sound like a death sentence. It's not like Logan's going to grade them for grammar or anything. He'll probably give you an A if it sounds like you've got any sort of idea of what you're talking about – if he reads them at all."

"Besides, 6 pages is nothing. Think about college. You're really going to be in trouble then," Kitty chimed in.

"That's easy for you guys to say. You know he's going to give you a 100, Rogue. And Kitty, you're only the biggest nerd in the school, so it's not like you'll have any trouble with it. Logan hates me!"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't frozen his hand…" Rogue drawled with a soft grin.

"Gee, thanks. Your support overwhelms me," he deadpanned, taking another huge bite of his pizza. The girls giggled, and Rogue wrapped a covered arm around his waist.

"Aw, cheer up. I'll probably end up grading yours anyway," she consoled him. There was a moment of silent eating before Tiffani piped up, again full of questions.

"So, who's this Logan guy anyway? Did you seriously freeze his hand?" Bobby nodded and began explaining Logan and his connection to the school, interspersed with gossip and corrections from Kitty and Rogue. Together, they had almost reached the point when Logan saved Rogue at the Statue of Liberty when Jubilee cut in.

"Newbie! Chicos, someone's at the newbie table!" she squealed with an excited grin. The other four heads at the table whipped around to look at the unsuspecting new student. She was a pretty blond girl, probably in her mid-teens. Huddled at the end of the "newbie" table with her wide eyes scanning the pages of a novel, she couldn't have looked more innocent. Kitty turned away abruptly.

"That is sooo mean!" she said, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Bobby shot her a roguish grin.

"Loosen up, Kit-Kat. It's not like they're going to hurt her or anything."

"You don't have to physically harm someone to hurt them, Bobby! I'm personally still traumatized from my 'induction,'" she continued. "I can't believe you guys are so mean!" She was completely turned away from the new girl now, as though she were distancing from the new girl now, distancing herself from the barbaric scene that was about to take place.

"I wasn't 'inducted' or anything, but they're hilarious!" Rogue informed Tiffani, her eyes glued to the girl over her shoulder. "Remember that one with the cream cheese?!" Jubilee snickered at the memory before pointing to the group of the seniors that had risen as one from a table on the far side of the cafeteria.

Kitty burrowed her face in one hand, anxiety building as the other students neared the clueless girl. Tiffani's eyes darted from Kitty's face to the blond's turned back before flashing over the intimidating boys. In a rush she rose from the table and quickly walked over to the blond's side. The girl looked up from her book, deep blue eyes taking in the face that had interrupted her.

"Hi!" Tiffani said cheerily, glancing toward the group that, she noted, was now hesitating beside the fruit bar. The girl warily slid her book closed, her gaze flying around the room and noticing that all eyes seemed to be locked on the table.

"Hey."

"Uh, my name is Tiffani. What's yours?" she asked, feeling a bit awkward at the girl's apathy.

"Shelby," the girl said cautiously.

"Cool. Well, I just noticed that you're new to the school and all, so I wanted to introduce myself and see if you maybe wanted to come sit with my friends and me or something," Tiffani continued warmly, gesturing over her shoulder where the other were, much like the rest of the cafeteria, gawking at them. Shelby's eyes followed Tiffani's fingers to skim over their faces.

"Thanks for the invitation, but I'm fine here," she said after a moment. Shelby began to reopen her book, but Tiffani leaned down over it, blocking the words with her face.

"Look," she said lowly, "I really came over here to help you. You see those guys over there?" Tiffani raised her head, a fake smile plastered to her face, and casually glanced at the fruit bar, where the seniors seemed to be having an extremely hard time choosing between apples and bananas. "Those are seniors. They want to embarrass you in front of all these people with something they call an induction. Now, you can come with me and maybe make some new friends, or you can stay here and get pummeled by those meatheads. It's your choice." Shelby's eyes widened a bit, lingering on one of the seniors with orange scales before a mask of faux glee covered her face. The brilliant smile was preceded by a giggling laughter that could have been taken straight from a movie. Shelby rose from the table, and together, the girls walked back to Tiffani's table, keeping up their chattering pretense. Shelby plopped down beside Tiffani and looked at the other members of the table curiously. Bobby looked at Rogue on one side of him and Kitty on the other side, both of whom were watching the new girl expectantly.

"Hey!" he said, taking his place as the group's leader. Shelby smiled softly at what she perceived as a pity-greeting. A slow nod and she was back to her book, which had been clutched to her chest protectively. Bobby gently elbowed Kitty's side, inconspicuously nodding his head toward Shelby.

"What are you reading?" Kitty asked, nudging the book's cover up so she could see the title. Shelby raised her head, her eyes sparkling with interest momentarily.

"_Jane Eyre_," she said, watching for Kitty's reaction. Kitty's brow furrowed, but Jubilee's eyes lit up.

"Oh, I've read that!!" she squeaked excitedly. "It was awesome!"

"You finally learned how to read?!" Bobby joked sarcastically.

"And a classic no less," Rogue joined in with a smile. Jubilee feigned a hurt pride and tried to hide a smug grin.

"Well, if you're going to act like this every time I read something, I'll just stop doing it altogether."

"'Cause that would be such a huge leap, right?" Bobby continued, both of their faces glowing merrily. Lunch flew by fairly quickly with Shelby enjoying the conversation but still not feeling connected to the group. Maybe it was just because she couldn't get a word in edgewise. Yes, that must be it. She'd just have to speak up for herself next time, and then they'd all get along just a tad better.

* * *

I know you want to tell me how horrible it was... or chew me out for being late... and look! You even get a cookie for your troubles!

-waves cybercookie in face-


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, it's finally here! It took me a looong time, but it's here. Hopefully, I didn't lose anyone... -looks out into the crowd- Right well... I would like to introduce you to Mysterious Scientist!!! I made Mysterious Scientist, so no taking!! However, if anyone owns the X-men -cough-Stan Lee-cough- and is interested in Mysterious Scientist, I might be willing to make a trade... As always, review, review, review (and review again)!!!! Oh, and dawn, I think I met your request!

* * *

Logan was lying underneath the belly of yet another expensive car, attempting to fix Xavier's Ferrari, which had been short circuited by an overzealous teen that sent electric pulses from his hands. The mansion's collection of fancy cars was parked on the lawn outside the garage. While this made it much harder to work on the cars when he woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, the soft New York grass was much more forgiving than the uncomfortable cement garage floor had ever been. 

He didn't mind the lack of light so much as he did the absence of a jack. He'd banged his elbow bloody repeatedly throughout the night. Not that you could tell, the only reminder was the dried blood that speckled his arm.

"Hey, Logan," Rogue drawled as she sank to the ground at his feet.

"What are you doing up so late? You've got classes in a couple hours," he replied without looking up from the car. So much for niceties.

"Well, I haven't been sleeping too well lately, that's all," she answered quietly, picking at the grass in front of her. Logan grunted as if to say "Fair enough," and a companionable silence settled over them. "Hey, Logan?"

"Yeah?" he asked roughly.

"When're you leaving again?" she asked softly, her eyes glued to the delicate blades of grass between her fingers. He scooted out from under the car quickly.

"What makes you think I'm leaving?" His eyebrows furrowed.

She shrugged, wishing she'd never said anything.

"You did last time..."

"Last time what?" Again, she shrugged and shifted in the grass. Logan sat up, regarding her seriously.

"Rogue," he started awkwardly, "I'm not -"

"Don't!" she cut in. "Don't promise me something you can't give. You will leave again. Just - would it be so hard to give me proper warning?" she asked, tossing the shredded grass back onto the ground. Logan sat up, leaning against the side of the car. He paused, thoughtfully considering her for a moment, before leaning forward and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"All right, if I do leave again, I'll tell you... 48 hours in advance, okay?" he said with a nod. "But I won't be taking off on you again."

Rouge smiled slightly, but it was more like she was humoring a small child than smiling genuinely.

"So, what's been keeping you up, kid?" he asked after a moment of strained quiet. Rogue sighed and moved to sit next to Logan, her shoulder next to his.

"Ya know, just a dream I've been having since I left the hospital," she said nonchalantly, resting her head against his clothed shoulder and turning her face up to the sparkling, star-ridden night sky.

"Not mine again," Logan asked hopefully, half-dreading the answer.

"Not really," she said, already beginning to get drowsy. He waited for her to elaborate, but she remained silent.

"That it?" he asked.

"Mmhmm," she said, burrowing her nose into his shoulder, obviously falling back asleep. He sighed and gently shrugged, shaking her into some half-conscious state.

"Go to bed, darlin'," he murmured, shifting her off of him.

"Mmm, no, not yet," she mumbled.

"Rogue, you're falling asleep," he said flatly. Suddenly, she jumped sharply, bolting up off of his shoulder. Pain burnt through her mind like tangible lightning. She blinked away the pain it caused and looked at Logan with a new sense of clarity. "You alright?" he asked. So similar to what he'd asked her when they'd gotten into that car crash... so long ago now.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I've just been meaning to tell you about this dream - didn't want to fall asleep on you," she lied easily. Logan frowned but didn't stop her.

"Alright, tell me."

"Okay, I was you. Well, I was you in your nightmare, but then I was me," she started awkwardly, her sudden burst of insight fading.

"You're not making sense, kid," Logan said, about to tell her to go back to bed.

"Sorry. So, it's starts out with me in your nightmare - and in that part of the dream, I'm you," she began again. "But then, I'm not in your nightmare anymore. I just kind of stops, and I'm taken to the jet - ya know, the X-jet? And there, I'm myself again," she stumbled on. His ears seemed to perk as she continued. He'd just woken up from his recurring X-jet dream. How many people could dream about the jet in one night?

"Yeah," he urged her to continue.

"Well, on the jet - you're there, and so is everyone else. I mean, Mr. Summers, Ms. Munroe, Ms. Grey... but they're all frozen still, not like with ice; they just don't move. But Ms. Grey isn't frozen; she was talking to you, and you aren't frozen either. You guys are talking about - about something," she could confidently now that he was really paying attention. And he was practically sitting on the edge of his seat, clinging to her every word with his eyes.

"You were there?" Logan asked, almost to himself. He was finally making the connection between their dreams.

"Yeah," she said quietly.

"So, you heard what Jean said?" he asked with mounting excitement.

"Some of it... Why?" she asked curiously.

"Did you hear her say that she was at Alkali?" he asked. Rogue's eyes widened, wondering just what she was a part of.

"Yes, I think so. I know she said something about Mozart," she answered. Logan started grinning like an idiot.

"I gotta go, Rogue. Tell the professor that I was right, and I'm going on my own," Logan called over his shoulder as he ran towards Scott's bike.

"Logan! Wait! Where're you going?" she shouted into the crisp night air after him. He just kept on running. Sighing to herself, she got up off of the cold dew-strewn grass. "I knew you'd take off again," she mumbled to no one as she started forlornly towards Xavier's room.

* * *

"Scott, I've been meaning to speak with you. Please come with me to my office," Xavier said as he finally found Scott wandering the vacant school halls shortly after 4 AM. 

"Professor? What are you doing up?" a bleary-eyed Scott asked, following his mentor back towards the plush office.

"It's the only time I can be sure that you're awake, Scott. You haven't been sleeping quite regularly now, have you?" Charles said with an almost dry chuckle. Scott nodded in agreement as the two men settled into the office, Scott in one of the comfy leather chairs and Charles behind his rich wood desk. Now that they were here, Xavier's demeanor changed to a more serious manner.

"What is it? What did you need to speak with me about?" Scott asked hesitantly.

"You are aware that with a school full of children, especially mutant children, it is essential to have a staff doctor on hand at all times," he started.

"Yes, sir," Scott said. He wasn't entirely sure where this was going.

" You also realize that since Jean's - passing - we are left without such a doctor," Xavier continued.

"Yes, sir," Scott answered quietly.

"Well, Scott, I feel that for the good of the children, it's time to find a replacement," Xavier said slowly.

"A replacement? You mean a new doctor, right?" Scott asked.

"Yes, a full time replacement. A doctor to be here day and night to look after the children. This doctor will preferably be a mutant themselves and may, eventually, decide to become a part of the team," Charles said delicately.

"A new member on the team? Professor, don't you think that it's a little early to throw another person onto the team? I mean, we're still getting used to Logan's fighting styles, I don't know if we can handle another member," Scott protested.

"That is exactly why I wanted to run this whole idea by you first. As the field leader of the X-men, I needed your opinion on the subject. The doctor will be coming no matter what. In times like these, it is very important to have a doctor on hand, and our team is weakened without Jean," Xavier continued.

"We've always had three members, Charles," Scott said. He rarely called the professor by anything other than Professor, but when he did, it was because the thought that the subject was important.

"I fear that three members will not be enough to handle what may come," the professor cautioned.

"Well, what do you think is coming? Couldn't we just induct some of the junior members on to the main team? They're getting old enough. They've got the experience-" Scott began.

"I'm not sure what is coming, Scott. It is, however, out of the question to bring the students into this. Their safety is of the utmost importance," Xavier continued.

"So, who did you have in mind for this new doctor?" Scott asked, changing the subject.

"Henry McCoy," Charles replied promptly.

"Oh. When can I meet him?" Scott asked. He had been hoping that Charles hadn't decided anything yet. Obviously, he was wrong.

"He should be arriving tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? We should get his room together now then," Scott said, his voice oddly neutral. With that, he walked out of the office.

Scott was furious. How could the professor plan something as big as inviting someone to live at the mansion, their home, without even consulting him? It was one thing that he didn't ask Scott's feelings until the day before this guy came, but it was another altogether to assume that Scott would want him on the team. It had only been few months and Charles was already getting a replacement for Jean. The very thought of this new Henry guy working in Jean's lab pissed Scott off.

He just hoped that this new person wouldn't be another Logan. He couldn't handle two rebels on the team at once. Of course, maybe the two rebels would get into a fight and end up killing each other. No, then Scott wouldn't have anyone to argue with over coffee every morning. Maybe Logan would win the fight.

* * *

Rogue approached the professor's office nervously. She didn't know why but every time she had to talk to the professor, she got nervous. She knocked quietly on the door and prayed she wasn't interrupting anything important. 

"Come in, Rogue," his voice rang out, sounding just a bit more tired than usual. She found it a little creepy that he always knew who was knocking, but considering his mutation, it was probably normal. She meekly entered the office and stood by the door. "Please, have a seat," Xavier said as he indicated to the leather chair that, unbeknownst to her, Scott had just vacated. She sat down and began fidgeting with her gloves. It had become a nervous habit of hers.

"Professor, Logan left. He told me to tell you that he was right and that he was going alone," Rogue said softly.

"I see," Charles said simply. His eyes seemed to look right through her to something else entirely. She found it a bit disturbing how his eyes looked now. They were still the kind, grandfatherly eyes she had come to adore, but it was as though someone was standing behind her having a conversation with him.

What Xavier was really doing was finding Logan's mind. Cerebro hadn't been rebuilt yet, but Logan hadn't gone far enough to be out of range.

_Logan, where are you going?_ Xavier asked Logan telepathically.

_To Alkali to get Jean,_ came Logan's response.

_What makes you think she's there?_ Charles asked.

_Rogue had the dream, too, _he answered, referring to the dream that he had told Charles about nearly a week ago. Xavier had dismissed the dream as a sort of subconscious rebellion against Jeans death. Jean was dead, and that was all there was to it. At least, that was what Charles had thought at the time. No, that was what he still thought. It wasn't surprising that Logan and Rogue were sharing dreams; she had absorbed him again. _She's there, I know it, _Logan continued indignantly. At that, Logan closed his mind; he didn't want to talk to Charles now. Coming back to the mansion with a mental sigh, Xavier looked to Rogue suddenly.

"Rogue, I hear that you've had a dream? Would you please tell me about it?" the professor said gently.

* * *

Professor Xavier called Ororo and Scott to his office after breakfast the next day. Ororo knocked on Xavier's door politely and waited. Almost before she could knock, Charles called them in. She took a seat in one of the lounge chairs being used by his desk. Scott chose to wait just inside the closed door. 

"Good morning, Scott, Ororo. I hope you've had a restful night," Professor greeted them warmly.

"Good morning, Professor. I'm fine, thank you," Storm answered.

"'Morning," came Scott's stiff reply.

"What is it that you wanted to tell us?" she asked, ignoring Scott. She didn't know why he was in such a bad mood, but she wished he'd get over it.

"Well, as Scott already knows, I have hired a new doctor for the school," Charles said calmly.

"A new doctor?" Ororo was a little surprised at the speed with which he'd found a replacement. It made sense that a new doctor was needed, but she couldn't help herself from feeling a bit shocked that Jean was being replaced. It was as though the world was telling her that life was going on and that Jean wasn't going to come back. "Who have you hired, professor?" she asked weakly.

"Henry McCoy. He is a doctor who fiddles in the sciences. I am hoping that you will accept him into the family," Xavier said with a smile.

"Of course!" Storm exclaimed. How could she not accept him? Everyone at the school was her family.

"And perhaps, one day, onto the team," Charles continued.

"The team? You want to bring on a new member?" she asked with surprise. "Are you sure that's wise, Charles?"

"I'm not saying that you should add him to your training sessions immediately. I, of course, want him to become comfortable with the school and you with him before we undergo any major changes in the team's dynamics. I merely want you to consider him for later recruitment. Before you make your decision, he won't even know about the X-men. You will all just be teachers, and this will just be a school," Xavier told her.

"When are you going to tell Kurt and Logan?" Scott asked with little emotion.

"I was planning on telling Logan at the same time as I told you, but since his recent departure, it will have to wait. Kurt will be informed when he returns from Germany," Professor answered. Kurt had chosen to go to his native Germany while the others had gone looking for Jean's remains. He was supposed to be returning any day now.

"Logan's gone?! Again!" Scott shouted suddenly. "That dirty rotten piece of _shit_! I told you this would happen, Professor! I told you that he would take off again! He's unreliable! He's irresponsible! He's –" Scott raged.

"Scott, calm yourself!" Charles said with authority. "Logan felt the need to do some research into his subconscious. He will be back shortly, and I ask you not to be so hard on him. Do you remember how you were when you first arrived at the school?"

"I was a teenager when I came here. Logan is an adult, and he needs to start acting like one!" Scott retorted.

"Scott, have you asked Logan how he feels about living at the school? Have you had a conversation with him? Do you know where he grew up?" Charles asked quietly.

"Well, no. I guess he grew up in Canada. What does that have to do with anything?" Scott asked impatiently.

"You should try to speak with him before you draw conclusions, Scott," Xavier finished. "Ororo, Dr. McCoy should be arriving this afternoon. Please meet him and show him around when he gets here." Storm nodded and rose from her seat before slipping quietly from the garage. Scott followed angrily after casting a cold look the professor's way.

What did Xavier mean "you should try to speak with him"? He'd spoken to Logan before. They were actually starting to become friends until Logan pulled a stunt like this. Scott marched over to his SUV and climbed in, slamming the door shut. He had a meeting to get to.

* * *

Logan sped along the highway to the very place he swore he would never go back to, Alkali Lake. He'd been driving all day, and it was a miracle that he hadn't gotten a ticket by now. He had passed the American-Canadian border about an hour and a half ago, and he was just pulling up to the government facility - or what was left of it. 

He hopped off the bike and looked around for Jean. All he saw was the same lake that they had left. There was no building, hardly any land, and no Jean. Angrily, he dropped down onto the shore of the recently enlarged lake besides Scott's bike, his head leaning against the still hot metal sides.

He was so stupid! They had looked for her body for a month with the most high-tech equipment to date. They hadn't found a thing. What made him think that Jean would contact him? She would have gone into Scott's head or the professor's. She probably wouldn't even think of him.

So, Logan sat there for about an hour, berating himself and paying absolutely no attention to his environment. When he finally looked up, it was so he could get on his bike and drive off into the sunset. He didn't have a destination in mind; anywhere but the mansion would do. That was when he saw her.

A floating figure was bobbing on the surface of the lake. He watched it quietly, and with his enhanced eyesight, he thought maybe - just maybe - he could make out red hair. His eyes widened ever so slightly at the thought as he stepped away from the motorcycle. In a trance-like motion, he began wading towards the object. He was shoulder deep in the freezing Canadian waters when the body came close enough to grab. _Please, don't be dead, Jeannie. Please,_ he thought desperately.

When he was finally able to pull her closer, he immediately checked for a pulse. It was there, but it was weak. Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Logan began to pull her back to shore. He'd found her. He was right! His mounting excitement fueled his energy as he swam back to shore.

He laid her on the bank and gently began to wake her up. She coughed up some water before lying limp, completely exhausted. Her green eyes opened slowly to meet his hazel ones. She attempted a small smile before closing her eyes again. _Hi, Logan, _she said telepathically.

"Hey, Red," he answered aloud. "You really scared us, ya know?" She nodded slightly.

_Let's get out of here, _he heard softly in his mind.

"Great idea," he whispered as he lifted her carefully onto the bike. "Can you hold on?" Another nod was the only response he got. He got on behind her and gently supported her as he sped off to the nearest hotel.

* * *

Scott wandered down the empty street surrounded by buildings that looked like they should be condemned. He glanced at the street sign doubtfully before pulling out a small slip of paper from his pocket. This was the address the woman on the phone had told him to meet her at. It certainly didn't look like the type of place where scientific breakthroughs were made, he thought to himself as he stared vacantly down the street. 

He'd contacted Sonay Valensky first by e-mail when he'd read an article on her research in the newspaper. The article had called her "a mutie-loving quack" and had publicly humiliated her work on mutant control. Valensky, unlike most modern scientists, wanted to peacefully coexist with mutants rather than destroy them. Naturally, Scott contacted her as soon as he could. After several long e-mails describing exactly what she was working on, Dr. Valensky had invited him to see the work for himself. It had seemed like a promising offer, so here he was. She, however, was no where in sight. Just as he was about to return to the mansion, he heard a woman call his name from behind him.

"Mr. Summers? Is that you?" the voice asked.

"Uh, Dr. Valensky?" he questioned hesitantly, whirling around to look into the bushes at his back. He couldn't see anything in the unkempt plants.

"Yes, it's me. You wanted to see my work, right?" the voice answered.

"Yes, if that's all right. Where are you?" Scott replied.

"Oh, right. Sorry," the disembodied voice said. A short woman stepped out of her hiding place in the bushes. "Sorry," she apologized again. "Since that article was published, I can't be too careful."

"Of course," he answered, slightly stunned. Sonya Valensky was about 5' 3" with deep brown shoulder length hair. Her olive complexion was highlighted by large dark eyes that cast around the street nervously. She was wearing a white lab coat over jeans and a maroon turtleneck. She definitely looked out of place in this part of town. Why hadn't she changed? She must own something that blended in a little more, especially if she was trying not to draw attention to herself. Was she that into her work, or was she just that absentminded?

"Hmmm. I expected you to be taller," she said suddenly as she looked him over.

"Oh," he managed in response. She certainly wasn't like any doctor he'd met. Jean's polar opposite, he though vaguely.

"Well, no use crying over spilt milk. Let's go. I have so much to show you. Did you bring a car?" she said as she started down the street, not concerning herself with whether or not he was following. Yup, she must be absentminded.

"Uh, yeah," Scott answered as he walked a little faster to catch up to her.

"Wonderful! You can drive us."

* * *

Remember, reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy!! (Like that ever gets you guys to reivew.) Okay well, the cyber cookie thing seemed to work last time soooo... CYBER COOKIES FOR ALL THAT REVIEW!!! You know you can't resist... 

-waves cookie in face-


	6. Chapter 6

Hey everybody!! I'm about to go up to NYC for Christmas (I really should be packing now), so I'm in a particularly cheerful mood. As a result - Chapter 6!!! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (or any of the rest of this fic)!

_Note:_ I don't actually know what the highest IQ score is, but my psychology notes said that anyone with a score 130+ is "very superior," so I just picked a number higher than that. Way higher. If any of you know what the _actual_ highest possible IQ score is, please review or PM me and let me know! (Or you can keep the info to yourself and just replace the random number that I picked.)

* * *

She woke up and was instantly aware of everything in the room. She could feel it, just waiting to be manipulated, pushing against her in an almost tangible sensation. As she focused on it, the pressure on her skin increased ten-fold, and it was all she could do not to blow all of the furniture out of the room, run the uncomfortable, stiff bed she was lying in through an invisible wood chipper, or rip the walls from their foundation and use them as Frisbees. 

But the little voice in the back of her mind, that little section of Jean that wanted to save the rain forest and give all of the world's orphans a home valiantly rebelled against the destructive urges. Xavier's little Jeannie struggled to control herself, just like she'd always been taught. She turned her mind from the incorrigible tingling that couldn't be associated with a specific body part to the room's other occupant, Logan's mind drawing her in like the nexus of a black hole.

Everything was laid out for her to see, touch… control.

No! Logan's mind was his own.

… But was it really wrong if he was showing her those things?

It was if she was bypassing his mental shields.

His shields should really be stronger though…

"Outta my head, Jean," Logan said, forcefully but gently, his head not bothering to turn from the hockey game on TV.

_Yes, get out of his head,_ the smaller voice called from its corner in her mind. _What would Charles think if…_

"Jean!" Logan said again, this time with more resolve. Jean marveled at the spark of unease that was quickly flaring into full blow nervousness. She wriggled a little deeper, knowing that she was toying with one of his greatest fears. Some primal part of Logan felt the shift, the worming deeper into his subconscious. The nervousness was spreading, making him shift on the couch to look at her.

Now that was interesting.

She could see herself through his eyes. She'd never made it this deep into a mind before – at least, not an unwilling one. Actually, she'd never done anything in an unwilling mind before. And unwilling he surely was, she noted. His face exposed a burning glare, and his body was stiff and rigid.

Appalled, her hands flew to her head, straightening the messy bed head that Logan (and coincidentally, she) saw. When she was satisfied with her physical appearance, she continued exploring his mind, sensually running psychic fingers over every part of his mind. He was starting to squirm. Still, she pushed deeper, forcing herself into every crevice of his mind. Stretching herself farther than ever before, she made him walk across the room to stand in front of her, ignoring the desperately bulging muscles and tendons that fought her control every step of the way.

There it was, that crinkle of fear that would soon grow to panic. A twisted grin spread across her face as she realized her power. _I did that,_ she thought with sick pride as he tried to free himself from her invisible grasp. Her hold slipped ever so slightly against his struggles. With a frown, she tightened her grip on his body and his mind, which evoked the faintest of whimpers from deep in his throat. As soft as it was, Jean felt it reverberate through him from his very core.

Hearing such a weak sound from such a strong person gave her pause.

_With great power comes great responsibility._

Xavier had told her when they'd first met.

_Absolute power corrupts absolutely._

Scott had told her during a discussion on Magneto.

_As a doctor, you will do no harm._

Her college dean's words when she received her medical degree.

_Trust me, Scott._

Her own words when they were trapped on the Statue of Liberty.

She dropped him, completely withdrew from his mind, and curled into a ball on the bed. His head was light, and his body was heavy, but he made himself hover over Jean, one arm braced on either side of her body.

"Jeannie?" he asked weakly. Already, he could feel his body healing from the damage his straining had caused. He looked at her, the mess of red hair and tattered uniform huddling on the second-rate motel room bed. "Jeannie, are you okay?" he asked, his voice quite a bit steadier.

"Just go! Get away from me!" she sobbed desperately. He had no idea. She could still feel his mind, calling her, trying to pull her back in. Even though her words were muffled by the pillow she'd buried her face in, Logan heard them clearly.

"Not until you tell me what the hell just happened," he said, calmly seating himself on the bed beside her, intent to wait her out.

"I'm sorry! Now leave!" she cried into the pillow. Her voice was laced with a pleading urgency, and he could feel the tension from her telekinesis building as she became more frantic. The ancient dusty lamp on the bedside table slowly floated up a few inches, its cord stretching and unwinding like a snake.

"Jean, talk to me," he said softly. He could smell the myriad of emotions running rampant through her system. Sadness, anger, fear, embarrassment, rage, and an almost crazed hunger all flooded her mind. No wonder she was breaking. "Hey, I won't tell them," he whispered gently. I won't tell them… that you lost control, that you can't handle it, that you took comfort from me, that you're not perfect.

Slowly, she raised her tear-streaked face and from behind wide frightened eyes, looked at him like he was a little piece of heaven; somewhere for her to rest and recharge her batteries. In the next second, she uncurled herself from her blanket cocoon and threw herself into his arms, burrowing her wet face into his neck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again and again, trying to regain control of herself.

"It's okay, Red. I gotcha," he murmured quietly, stroking soothing circles along her back. After a few long minutes, her sobs tapered off and her shaky body relaxed. She was asleep.

* * *

Sonya directed him to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. He looked at her uncertainly, wondering not for the first time if this was some sort of a trap. 

"Here we are. Home sweet lab," she said cheerily as she climbed out of his SUV. He followed numbly. Sonya slid open the large metal door to the warehouse to reveal a very basic lab that looked more like someone's garage than a place of science. There was, however, a large metal contraption that may have been the start of some sort of machine. Sonya walked to the thing and stood before it proudly. "Here it is," she said, as though she were displaying some great work of art. "This is my masterpiece."

Scott stepped closer to the "masterpiece" and studied it skeptically. This was the key to human-mutant harmony? It didn't look like it was finished. He wasn't an engineer per se, but he'd spent many hours working on the mansion's jet, and nothing on the _Blackbird_ looked anything like the machine in front of him. Basically, it looked like Dr. Valensky had taken a large chunk of junkyard scrap metal and decorated it with things from around the lab. Bits of wire stuck out hazardously, and thin metal twine was so thick that it nearly concealed the seemingly randomly scattered buttons that coated the clump.

Sonya grinned at Scott's attempt to keep an open mind and a polite face. However, he was looking at the machine as if it were something the cat dragged in. She was fine with it; most people didn't understand the basic geometric patterns that contributed to the radiation generation. The fact that it was a rough copy didn't help its appearance either. She hated to mess with someone who was trying so hard to be accepting, but fun was fun.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked him, hiding her grin. Scott looked up and suddenly remembered what it felt like to be handed a pop quiz. He stepped back for a moment under the pretense of taking in the entirety of the clump while he decided what he could possibly say about it.

"It's, uh, it's amazing," he said lamely.

"What about it?"

"The, um, the overall aura. It really, um, it's really imposing. Obviously very powerful." Sonya was suppressing giggles now. She decided to take pity on Scott and moved to the opposite side of the machine.

"Don't worry. This is an extremely rough example. The real machine is over here." Scott followed her deeper into the garage, apparently relieved that the fate of the political world wasn't resting with that chunk of parts. Sonya stopped before a much larger version of the clump. It still greatly resembled an average clump, but there wasn't nearly so much twine, and the buttons were arranged neatly on the left hand side.

"Oh, that's better," he said, still only half meaning it.

"There actually isn't much difference between this example and the model you just saw. This one has a bit more structure and is larger, so I can work inside it more easily," Sonya explained.

"Inside it?" Scott questioned. The entire machine was only about 3 feet in diameter.

"Not completely inside it, naturally, but I can go in and work on it without using tweezers. I'm absolutely horrible with those things. They keep slipping…" she trailed off contemplatively.

"Right. So, uh, could you give me a demonstration?" Sonya looked up, brought out of her thoughts.

"Yes! Yes, of course. A demonstration. Exactly what I was planning. Right over here," she reached into a cage and pulled out a large lab rat. The rat was, however, a vibrant grass green. "I've genetically mutated this rat. I know, it's not technically a mutation like yours, but it should do quite nicely."

"You altered its genes?" he asked with obvious surprise. Sonya paused in setting the rat on the platform before her. Her face showed that she had just revealed more than she'd intended.

"Uh, yes."

"I didn't know that sort of technology was possible."

"Well, to the average scientist, it's not," she said, obviously praying he would let the subject die.

"Oh," he said, nodding. Sonya continued arranging the rat on the platform and began explaining.

"The rat's obvious mutation will help show the affect of the procedure. The radiation will strike the platform and neutralize the gene that causes the rat to be green. Easy, Binkers," she said, softly stroking Binkers. "Now, if you'll put these on," she said, handing him a lead apron and goggles. She put on a matching set and began pressing buttons on the clump.

The machine squeaked and beeped and shot out a thin ray of radiation, which was absorbed by the rat. Scott watched with awe as, before his eyes, the rat's green color faded until it was completely white. The machine beeped again when Sonya flicked a switch at the back. She removed her goggles and leaned in to examine Binkers.

"Perfect," she muttered happily. Then she lifted the rat to see its stomach, "Well, almost," she added.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer and carefully pulling the goggles from over his usual quartz glasses.

"Well, nothing really. It's just that the skin on his stomach is still green," she said, brushing her gloved finger through the rat's fur to reveal neon green skin below the white hair. "I changed some settings this morning; I was hoping it would fix the problem." She sighed. "Back to the drawing board on that." Scott took the rat into his own hands and stroked its back.

"But Sonya," he said with curiosity, "the skin on his back isn't green." Sonya nodded, unsurprised.

"That's the odd bit. Any traces of mutation remain only on the stomach. I'm personally hoping that this is a side effect of the altered genes. My theory is that by messing with the DNA in the first place, you alter the natural reaction of the mutation to some extent. Unfortunately, I've never tested on an actual mutant, so I can't be sure. I also don't know which part of Binkers represents the natural reaction. The green part or the white part?"

Scott nodded.

"So are there any side effects from the actual procedure?"

"Not really, from what I've seen. Of course, I have to do more testing, but the only thing I've noticed among the rats is the cancer. Cancer is one of the typical side effects found due to the mutation placement, so I doubt it's related to this machine at all." Sonya took Binkers from Scott's arms and placed him back in the cage.

"It's certainly amazing, Sonya, but will it work in the real world?" he asked, watching the other green rats welcome Binkers back as if he were still just like them. If only the real world was like that, he thought wistfully.

"Well, obviously, this model won't be the final one. I've got some sketches of what I'd like to see as the final product, but nothing official. I would like it to be more community friendly, so to speak. People wouldn't like a thing that looks like this in their neighborhood. I'm thinking we could put a large enough cover on it, so it could be passed off as your average generator or something," she said as she pulled some sketchbooks from a desk drawer. She handed them to him wordlessly and watched as he flipped through.

The pages showed scribbled sketches of various possible designs for a public machine. One looked like an elevated glass box with a raised chair in the very center. Another depicted a more circular design that looked like it was flat and placed in the ground. Squiggly lines came from the center of the circle, presumably where the machine was in the ground, representing radiation. There were several stick figures inside the circle with two words scrawled on the bottom of the page: _Mass suppression._

_

* * *

_

Sonya sighed as Scott drove away into the near dark horizon. He'd made an appointment for the next day to continue reviewing the research. She had to admit that she was secretly thrilled to find someone who agreed so whole-heartedly with her work, but it was also extremely tiresome to entertain guests for so long. It was nice to have someone to talk to, but it was tedious having to explain the smallest details. Oh well. At least there would only be a few days of the ceaseless fire and answer questioning that he'd done. After that, he should understand the basics and they could get on to the really work.

Scott had volunteered himself as a test subject in addition to helping her as a sort of lab assistant in his free time. Before he'd left, they'd already been planning how to get extra funding and public backing from Xavier, as well as a few extra hands around the lab. Scott was almost positive that his AP students would be thrilled to find a place to get their volunteer work done.

It was finally all coming together! The realization hit her like a bullet, and she was suddenly so filled with giddiness that she had to release a string of high pitched giggles and squeals that echoed through her empty lab, startling the rats. She was just beginning to calm down when the phone interrupted her euphoria.

"Hello?" she answered breathlessly as she tripped over some junk on the floor.

"Dr. Valensky," a deep male voice said blankly. Sonya's brows furrowed as her mind raced to match the voice with someone she knew. "You don't know me, Sonya," the man continued, eerily seeming to read her mind. "But I have news for you."

"Who is this?" she asked, feeling the smallest pinch of fear in her gut. The voice made her skin crawl. It was cold, smooth, and emotionless. No, not emotionless. She heard plenty of maliciousness in that voice. She prayed it wasn't a promise of things to come.

"I have Elena," the man said, ignoring her question. His voice had a leering tone that made her blood curl.  
"You must be mistaken. I don't know an Elena," Valensky said coldly.

"I believe _you_ are the mistaken one, Sonya. Perhaps I should jog your memory? 1974 - under the bridge - blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. Ringing any bells, Sonyadoll?"

Sonya slammed the receiver down as hard as she could. What kind of a sick freak calls with something like that? She hadn't seen Elena Valensky in years. In fact, Elena was dead. Since 1974.

There was nothing odd about the fact that the man had known the details of Elena's death. He'd just dug up her case file somehow and decided to have a little fun at her expense. At least, that was what Sonya told herself. But how had he known about Elena's old nickname for her, Sonyadoll? Remembering the voice, she searched desperately through her memory for any clue, the vaguest memory, of someone with a matching voice.

But no, she'd never known anyone who sounded like the grim reaper himself. She would remember a voice like that. She was startled out of her thoughts as the phone rang again. She thought about not answering, just walking away and letting it ring off the hook. She didn't have an answering machine. She would never have to know who was on the other end…

Hesitantly, she reached for the receiver. Her mother had taught her never to leave a ringing phone unanswered; the one time she did would be the one time the call was important. Her iron grip on the phone eased the trembling in her hands as she answered.

"Hello?" she said nervously. The quivering had managed to finds its way into her voice as well.

"Sonya? Hey, it's Scott."

"Scott! Oh, thank God," she said, her voice filling with relief.

"Yeah. Are you alright? You sounded a little… weird there for a moment," he said with concern. She smiled on her end of the receiver.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thanks. Uh, why is it that you called?" she asked, not meaning to sound rude.

"Well, I seem to have gotten myself a little… a lot lost," Scott said with a chuckle. "My GPS system is out right now, so I figured I'd see if you knew where I was."

"I'm not psychic, Scott."

He laughed, and his laughter seemed to warm her ice cold body.

"Right, uh, Montgomery Avenue? By Rick's Pawn Shop?" he asked. Sonya smiled and began giving him directions.

* * *

Henry McCoy walked up the long gravel driveway to the grand mansion, happy for the chance to stretch his legs. Traveling by bus most certainly didn't provide for the most spacious accommodations - that was for sure. Especially when one was trying to keep from being seen, Hank thought as he lowered the hood of his heavy wool coat from around his blue furred face. Thick coats were simply dreadful in the middle of August. But until the general population became more accepting of physically atypical mutants, the coats were a must. 

Hank was a 7 ½' tall, 300 pound, blue, furry genius. He also had animal like reflexes and senses. Physically and mentally, he was an absolute contradiction. He was also flat broke. At the moment, he had a whole 20 bucks to his name. Hence the fact that he'd ridden the bus instead of calling a cab or flying to the mansion. You would think that someone with an IQ of 300 would be able to hold some sort of steady job. Though, as he considered his current situation, he realized that as jobless and penniless as he was, he had still managed to weasel his way into living in a mansion where he wouldn't have to wear these god-awful coats all the time. He chuckled to himself. _Henry, you old fox!_ he thought as he knocked on the door, suddenly feeling much better about himself. After a few seconds, the door was answered by a perky Chinese looking girl who was decked out from head to toe in a vibrant, eye-shocking yellow.

"Whazzup?! Welcome to Xavier's Freak Show. Can I get you a cup of snot?" she said breathlessly without bothering to see who was at the door. One of the teenagers behind her burst into giggles while two others nearly slammed into her back. Hank frowned a bit, almost having to translate the gibberish that came out of her mouth into something more like English.

"Er, hello, miss. I'm fine today; how are you faring? I don't believe I'd like a cup of tea at the moment, though I may take you up on that offer later," he finally said.

"Woah, dude! Did you just step out of an 1800's novel or what?!" she said, finally looking up. "Holy -"

"Jubilation, do watch your language," Xavier's voice called from down the carpeted hallway. "And please, invite our guest inside properly." Charles was making his way down the hall, followed closely by Ororo.

"Sorry," Jubilee said at Xavier's reproach. "Uh, please, come in, sir." Hank smiled and stepped passed her in the doorway. She looked to Charles for her dismissal. He nodded, and she happily trotted down the hall, taking her chattery friends with her.

"Dr. McCoy, welcome," Charles said cordially. "I do hope you found your way here easily enough."

"Ah, yes, Professor Xavier. It's rather hard to miss a place like this," Hank said, casting an awe-filled glance around the lavish front hall. He'd expected nice, but this was ridiculous. Xavier chuckled softly as he came to a stop in front of the new member.

"I'd like to introduce you to my colleague, Ororo Munroe," Charles said, gesturing to the woman beside him.

"Hello," she said politely, offering her hand to Hank. He took it, shaking it perhaps a bit more roughly than he'd intending, his giant clawed hand dwarfing her smaller one.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I hope you don't mind my asking, but what science do you specialize in?" he asked, flashing a toothy smile.

"Basic Chemistry, Biology, and Physics," she said, returning his smile. Hank's eyes widened.

"A triple major! I'm much obliged to meet you!" he exclaimed.

"Hank! Hank, I teach the basic science courses for the school! Don't start thinking I'm some sort of genius or anything!" Ororo said happily, her rich laughter filling the corridor.

"Oh, oh yes, of course. I'd completely forgotten that this was a school!" After they'd quieted their laughter, he continued. "Will I be teaching anything, Professor Xavier?"

"I'd like you to get acquainted with the lab, the students, the other teachers, and the school in general before you take on a class load as well. I don't want you to fall behind in your research, Dr. McCoy," Charles said, smiling contently. "However, once you're settled in, if you feel you can handle a class as well as your other obligations, I'd be happy to set you up with a higher math or science course."

"How many other people will I be working with, sir?" he asked curiously, his eyes still taking in the large room.

"Well, other than the students, you'll be in close contact with myself, Ororo, Scott and Kurt – other teachers, Logan, and occasionally a visitor. We aren't a large school, Henry. But there is always a lot going on here. Do you enjoy a fast paced life?"

Henry nodded.

"Yesterday, I thought I would be living out of the local gas station, and today, it looks like I'll be living in a mansion. I would have to say that I'm quite pleased with the way my life is progressing at the moment," Hank said cheerfully. "In fact, I believe –"

"ANTHONY!!!" Scott called as he walked into the mansion, disrupting the conversation that was taking place in the front hall. "RAHNE!!! COME HELP ME UNLOAD THE CAR!" He stopped in front of Hank and looked at him curiously. But soon, his curiosity changed to coldness. "Dr. McCoy, I assume?"

"Yes, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you! I'm going to be working in the laboratory down stairs," Hank informed him cheerfully, extending his hand.

"I've heard," Scott said, shaking Hank's large hand tensely. Scott turned away, looking up the grand staircase in the next room. "LET'S GO! I'VE GOT FROZEN STUFF!!" he shouted up, waiting for the teenagers, one of whom came bounding down the stairs.

"Did you get ice cream, Mr. Summers?" the boy, presumably Anthony, asked as he ran down the stairs.

"It's in the car," Scott said warmly, his icy demeanor vanishing. "Where's Rahne?"

"She's coming," Anthony said as a shaggy red dog came trotting out of the kitchen. Anthony looked at the dog with amusement. "You're going to need thumbs for this, Rahne." On command, the girl stretched and grew until she was a red headed girl sitting on the floor.

"Dogs are perfectly capable of carrying things, Tony," she informed him in a matter of fact, Scottish voice.

"Yeah, but I'd prefer you didn't get slime all over the bags, drool face," the boy replied good-naturedly.

"Let's go," Scott interrupted, cupping each teen by the back of the head and leading them out the door.

Ororo watched the trio start toward the car, noticing that other teens were starting to crawl out of their holes at the mention of food. She was sure that by the time Scott made it to the kitchen, there would be a crowd of them waiting to see what goodies he'd bought.

"One candy bar, Chris," she told the chubby blond boy that was walking by.

"Yes, Miss Munroe," he answered in the "Yeah right" voice that teens have perfecting over the years. She shook her head, picking up on the tone immediately.

Scott spoiled the kids way too much. Sugary cereals, video games, soda, and anything else their hearts desired – if they wanted it, they usually got it. Hank looked at the myriad of children flooding the halls with wonder. So much youth and exuberance! So much potential! Reluctantly, he forced his attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Professor Xavier, was that man Kurt, Scott, or Logan?" he asked as the last of the kids disappeared down the hall.

"That was Scott. He's the math and English teacher here, though, at the moment, he's still not on full duty. Perhaps in a few weeks, he'll have recovered enough to resume a full class load," Charles said mostly to Ororo, who had taken up the majority of Scott's classes.

"Has he been ill?" Hank asked, looking out a window to watch Scott and the two teens unload groceries. He certainly looked robust enough to handle his classes… and run a triathlon or two on top of it.

"Not physically. You see, Scott has recently lost someone very close to him," Charles said solemnly.

"Has his wife…" Hank started to say. Xavier gave him a tight lipped smile and looked down the hall, his face taking on a distant look.

"I'm afraid I need to take a call," he said vaguely just before yet another teen came flying (literally) down the hall.

"Professor!" the airborne girl said as she reached them. She extended her hand, revealing a cordless phone. "There's someone on the phone for you."

"Thank you, Emilia," he said. The girl wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Sorry. Icarus," he corrected with a smile. She smiled sweetly and handed him the phone. As Charles disappeared down the hall, a shrill bell rang, echoing through the school and signaling the beginning of afternoon classes. Storm looked up in surprise; she'd completely lost track of time.

"Icarus, would you mind showing Dr. McCoy to an empty bedroom in the teacher's ward?" she asked, looking at the girl hopefully. Icarus nodded and watched her teacher dart off to class. Ororo disappeared, and Icarus turned her attention to the big blue man beside her, curiously observing him.

"Hello, child," Hank said sweetly after enduring the girl's scrutiny for a moment. "My name is Henry McCoy, but you may call me Hank if you wish." Icarus's big brown eyes flickered away from Hank as their owner obviously realized she was staring.

"Hello, Mr. Hank," she said politely. "Um, the rooms are this way." They started up the red carpeted staircase at a slow enough pace that Hank could take in the elaborate décor and Icarus could miss the quiz that was planned in the first few minutes of her next class.

"So, do you like it here, Icarus?" he asked in an attempt to make conversation.

"Oh, very much!" she exclaimed cheerily, nodding so enthusiastically that her dusty brown hair flopped behind her. "The teachers here are great! I like Mr. Logan's training class the best; he let's me fly the whole time if I want to!"

"What does Mr. Logan train you in?" Hank asked curiously, wanting to gather as much information as he could about his comrades.

"Mostly just gym stuff – running, and pushups, and sports – but on Fridays, he let's us beat each other up! Well, he calls it self-defense, but that's what I'm good at. Oh, and he's teaching the older kids to be on the X-men. That's what I'm practicing for," she said matter-of-factly. "I've already got my code name picked out and everything. Are you going to be on the X-men, Mr. Hank? I bet you'd be good at it; you're big and strong and scary! The bad mutants would take one look at you and pee their pants!"

Hank tried to follow the girl's excited rambling, but there was so much that he couldn't understand, which was saying something considering his intelligence level. For example, what were X-men? And who were the "bad mutants" that she spoke of so vehemently? Under normal circumstances, he would've just asked, but he had the distinct feeling that if he asked such a simple question the girl would clam up. It almost seemed like the X-men were some sort of exclusive club that only members or soon-to-be members knew about.

"One time, I saw the X-jet taking off," Icarus said, abruptly switching topics. "It was so cool! The entire basketball court was like –_SHOOSH!!!_" she said, indicating that the basketball court had split into to parts with her hands. Hank frowned, but it went unnoticed by the girl, who stopped outside one of the doors in a long hall that they had entered. "I think this one's open…" she said, cracking open the door just wide enough to stick her head in. "Yup, this is your room, Mr. Hank."

"Thank you… Icarus," he said, hesitating over her "code name." In Greek mythology, Icarus had made artificial wings from wax and tried to fly. He'd flown to close to the sun, the wings melted, and poor Icarus had crashed back to earth. How strange for the girl to have picked a failed flyer for her icon. "Now, you should get on to class, correct?" Icarus frowned slightly, obviously not sure if the quiz would be quite over yet.

"Do you want me to help you unpack? I could show you around!" she said, trying to find any reason to stay out of class just a few minutes longer. Hank looked at his lone duffel bag.

"I think I can handle it, but thank you for the offer." She sighed, looking down the hall sorrowfully.

"Just walk slowly, Icarus," he suggested warmly with a wink. She looked back at him with a grin and began inching down the hall.

"See you later, Mr. Hank!" she chimed when she was a few doors down.

"And I you, Icarus!"

* * *

So, what'd you think?? Is it totally awesome? Is it totally sucky? Did I get the characterization wrong? Were my lame attempts at jokes stupid? 

You know you want to share your opinion. And you know I love reviews. So, make us both happy, will ya?!


	7. Chapter 7

Wow guys, I'm really sorry! Quite honestly, I forgot about this story all together. Luckily, one of my friends asked me if I'd gotten any good reviews lately, and I was like ... O.O! So, I raced here to post the next installment. I hope you like it! Oh, and if the big italicized part is too much for your eyes, tell me (that requires a review or a PM) and I won't do that for flashbacks anymore. In case you haven't picked up on it _italics_ either mean a flashback or a thought - it's easy enough to differentiate.

* * *

The next day, Scott was back at Valensky's planning table again. Bright and early, he'd slipped out of the school and onto the highway. Now, Sonya was explaining the details of how her miracle machine worked instead of how it would be used.

"Okay, explain this to me," Scott said, examining the blue print of the final model, which, unlike its current version, was a nondescript, cylindrical tube.

"Well, it uses radiation, as you already know. In a normal," she paused awkwardly, "uh, in an unmutated human, doses of radiation this powerful damage the cells of the body." Sonya pulled out a diagram showing the breakdown of the "normal" human cells exposed to radiation. "I'm sure you've heard of the Hiroshima victims." Scott nodded.

"The residual radiation from the atom bomb we dropped completely decimated the city. People were suffering radiation poisoning for months afterward – third degree burns, low white counts, and keloids, among other things. Survivors were practically ripped apart," he said solemnly.

"Right, but I have found that there is quite a different effect when the same levels of radiation are applied to mutants," Sonya continued, excitement building in her voice. She pulled another sheet of paper out and hastily scribbled a sketch. "Instead of suffering the detrimental effects that the non-mutants went through, they came out of the radiation as healthy as ever. Well, with the exception of their mutation. I actually didn't realize anything was happening to them until I put in an obviously physically mutated test subject. Imagine my surprise when he came out in his unmutated form! On a molecular level, his active mutation had completely disappeared. It's my theory, that the mutated part of the DNA sacrifices itself to protect the overall health of the mutant. Eventually, the mutation does 'grow' back as the mutant makes more cells, which have 'live' mutation genes in them." Scott was watching her doodle with rapt fascination.

"But what happens to the sacrificed mutation? Is it destroyed?" he asked, trying to follow Sonya's rushed explanation. Jean always was better at this sort of thing.

"No, it's more like the gene is reverted back to its dormant stage – like it was before manifestation. Fascinating, isn't it? Of course, it's only been tested on artificially mutated rats. I have no idea where I could find a person to test on. My funding's gone, my credibility's completely evaporated, and all of my contacts have 'forgotten' that they know me!" Sonya finished forlornly, tiredly running a slender hand through her hair. There was a moment of silence before Scott spoke softly.

"Sonya, would you like to test on me?"

* * *

Amidst the junk in Sonya's garage-like lab, Scott sat before the still nameless machine, watching Sonya. She was muttering something about a rate of absorption and yanking on the front of the machine. There was a loud snap as the piece she was jerking on popped off.

"There," Sonya said with satisfaction. "Now I can put on this piece here…" she murmured as she easily clicked on a bulkier part and stood triumphantly beside her creation. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely," Scott answered resolutely. They'd spent most of the day running tests on him, taking notes, and filling out forms. He was actually starting to get antsy, anticipation overpowering his usual patience.

"I've never done this on a person before, Scott," she said for the millionth time. "I don't know what the side effects might be."

"I know. We filled out the forms, Sonya. My signature's on everything. I'm a perfectly willing test subject." _You won't be responsible if I die._

"Do you really trust me _that_ much?" Sonya asked dubiously.

"No," Scott answered bluntly. "I'm that desperate." Sonya cast her eyes to the floor in silence. After I moment, Scott tried to lighten the mood with, "But hey, let's get this show on the road, huh?" Sonya nodded slowly and began putting on her goggles and lead apron. "Uh, am I going to need any of that stuff?" Scott asked, the first bit of uncertainty creeping into his voice. Sonya pushed a few buttons on the machine before she answered. The machine began humming loudly as it built up the power it needed to project the radioactive beam.

"No. Your mutation is in every cell in your body, so we need to treat all of you," she shouted over the hum, which was quickly building to a roar. The machine reached an almost deafening scream, and Sonya yelled, "Here we go!" Then she flipped a switch, and the machine fell silent, a relatively small beam of pure radiation shooting out of it and growing to become an insurmountable wall. Scott didn't have time to think before his body was engulfed in white hot light that burnt through to the bone and out the other side of him. He didn't know how long he felt like that, time suspended in inanimate limbo. He knew he bit his lip through. The metallic tang of his own blood leaked across his tongue. At least he didn't scream.

At last, Sonya turned off the beam, and Scott crashed back to Earth. She was at his side in an instant, checking his pulse and breathing. Scott blearily opened his eyes from his position on the floor. Now, he was flat on his back with no idea as to how he'd gotten there. But that wasn't the only thing he noticed. One of the first things that popped into his head was the realization that his world was still painted in shades of red. His heart sunk, and his stomach panged with despair. It hadn't worked.

"Scott! Are you okay?" Sonya's worried voice broke through his cloudy mind.

"I'm okay," he assured her. She looked at him doubtfully, seeing the tears that had slipped passed his visor and the small traces of blood highlighting his lower lip. "I'm fine," Scott repeated, feeling a little more secure in the words as he began to sit up. Sonya let him, though she looked like she was waiting for him to collapse on the spot.

"Do you feel any different?" she asked with genuine curiosity. Not that she mentioned it, he did feel… off. He couldn't identify how or where it felt weird. It wasn't exactly a bad feeling – just… strange.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "Something's changed, but I don't know…" Sonya's cool fingers pressed against his neck.

"Your pulse is almost back to normal. Breathing sounds good," she said, grabbing a chart from his old physical. His eyes hadn't been studied since he'd settled into Xavier's, so the information was over a decade old, but it was all they had. "Okay, read that chart for me, please," she said, gesturing to an old eye chart she'd taped onto a wall about 20 feet away. Scott read off all of the letters he could until Sonya stopped him. "Obviously, your vision hasn't been affected. I think it's safe to open your eyes now, Scott. Close your eyes," she said, gentle hands fluttering to his visor and lifting it off his face. Scott let her, obligingly closing his eyes.

"I don't know," he said quickly. "We haven't done any tests to see if my mutation has been changed or not." The last time he'd opened his bare charged eyes, he'd blown a hole through the roof of a 12-story hospital. He'd been on ground level.

"Okay, so we'll test it outside. It's okay. The worst that can happen is that we give the neighbors a light show," she persuaded. Reluctantly, Scott let her lead him outside. As she opened the door, he felt the crisp evening air rush into the lab and remembered the 18 months that he'd lived blind on the streets. "Alright, you're all clear. Just tilt your head back and open your eyes," Sonya said cheerily after leading him a few feet into the street. Fear bubbled up from his gut as he leaned his head back as far as he could and opened his eyes.

He saw blue.

A beautiful cerulean blue with the faintest trace of a stark white, whispy cloud right on the verge of his vision. Another realization struck him.

He was seeing color.

"Sonya, am I blowing anything up?" he asked breathlessly.

"No," she answered with a huge smile. "Your eyes are completely normal." Scott turned his face from the sky to take in the rest of the world. After being deprived of colors for so long, his eyes were hyperalert. There wasn't much grass on the broken down street, but he saw what little there was in a billion-shade spectrum of greens. The asphalt beneath his feet glimmered with a sparkle that would've put the most beautiful of diamonds to shame. A giant smile broke out on his face, and he turned around, taking in everything he could. The decrepit buildings were windowless and covered in obscene graffiti, but he saw passed that, his eyes mesmerized by the myriad of colors. Sonya came into his field of vision, and he saw a person in color for the first time in 15 years.

Sunlight lit up her lightly browned skin and the faintly red highlights in her dark hair. She was still in her ridiculously conspicuous lab coat, though this time it was worn over jeans and a dark blue sweater. The image was forever burned into his memory. She was beautiful. The world was beautiful. Suddenly, laughter bubbled up from his chest as the situation began to sink in.

He could see color. He wasn't shooting anything. He wasn't hurting anyone. He was normal.

The words floated through his mind like a mantra over and over, fueling his euphoria. Sonya was beaming as well, though for far different reasons. Her machine had worked! All the possibilities for her future flowed like a rapid river in her head; she would win a Nobel Prize for sure, get grants for future research, make millions selling her work to private companies. And it was all thanks to the man in front of her. Scott had calmed a bit, reigning his laughter in to a smile that reached from one ear to the other.

"It's a new world for mutants now, Scott. It's a new world for you," she said, watching him take in his own "new world" with rapt fascination.

* * *

Ororo's head was pounding. She'd gotten through all of her classes, including the ones she was still teaching for Scott, and the tour of the mansion she'd taken Hank on at the professor's request. Now, her head was positively pulsating, and she was more than ready to turn in for the day. 

"Ms. Munroe!" a lone student called from down the hall. Reluctantly, Ororo turned to face the youth, hoping that the boy didn't need help with homework or a trip to the store. As long as someone needed something, her bubble bath would have to wait. The young man approached with a frown. "Is Mr. Summers at a meeting or something?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Andrew. Why?" she asked curiously.

"Well, it's just that he wasn't in class today, and we didn't have a sub or anything," the boy explained. He paused before continuing in a low voice, "Did you guys have to do, ya know, X-men stuff?" Ororo frowned, trying to come up with a feasible reason for Scott to have disappeared.

"I'll look in to it. Did your class fall behind its schedule?" she asked, trying to draw his attention away from her confusion.

"No, Mr. Summers leaves his lesson plan on his desk and Bobby was there, so we just did what was under today's date. Bobby's a genius in World War II stuff, and that's the section we're on, so I guess it evened out. "Is Mr. Summers okay?" Andrew persisted. Ororo sighed, exhaustion oozing out of every pore of her body.

"I'm sure he's fine. Professor probably just called him away to run some errands or something," Ororo assured the student. "Now, I happen to know that you have an essay due for me tomorrow. Are you finished with it?" Andrew's eyes widened and drifted sheepishly to the floor.

"Uh, not quite, but…" he paused, searching for an excuse. "Well, g'night, Ms. Munroe," he said with false cheer.

"Good night, Andrew," she said, though his form was already retreating toward his room. Well, it looked like her day wasn't over yet. She walked down the hall, reluctantly passing her own room to stop in front of Scott's door. No light shone from the crack beneath the door, and no sound filtered through. Regardless, she knocked politely, just to be sure. After a moment, she tried the knob and found it to be unlocked. Hoping she wasn't disrupting anything, she opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Immediately, her headache increased a thousand-fold, causing her to gasp in pain. Scott wasn't in the room, but Ororo couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone.

"Scott?" she called as she flicked on the light. His things were still in place… as were Jean's. He just couldn't bring himself to pack her things. It was almost as though he expected her to come home. Sadly, she looked around the room for any clues he might have left. The room was extremely neat with a harshly made bed and a clutterless dresser. Well, on one side at least.

Jean's side of the room had old knick knacks lying all over the place, on her dresser, her desk, her nightstand… Jean's wall was coated with paintings that students had made for her and Scott. There was a small bulletin board full of sticky notes and push pins. She'd certainly been a busy woman. Scott merely had a mirror and a few pictures on his wall.

There was one lone sticky note on the mirror, its bright pink color in stark contrast to the rest of his room. The actual sticky was, of course, from Jean's side – it's ridiculously cheery color betrayed that, but the note was completely Scott. It said:

_Went out. Be back soon._

_Don't call, cell off._

_Don't worry._

Most definitely a rushed note. "Went out," that was very vague for a person who made students sign out before they left campus, especially when the note ended in "don't worry." She'd known him a long time, and those words usually meant Scott was into something he had no business in.

"Don't worry," is what he'd told them when he'd gotten the "great" idea to raid the professor's wine cache the night before exams. "Don't worry," were his words when he'd suggested that the team take a "flying lesson" down to Marti Gras without the professor's knowledge. "Don't worry," never resulted in anything good. Ororo groaned.

Her headache still hadn't let up, and it felt like her head was going to implode. One hand on her head, she perched on the edge of Scott's bed and picked up his bedside phone. He'd said not to call, but she could still leave a message. An angry message. As much as he complained about Logan's irresponsibility, you'd think he would know better than to abandon his classes on a whim! She dialed and waited patiently, though she didn't have to wait long. Scott's cell immediately clicked to voicemail, verifying that it was, indeed, turned off.

"Scott, where-" A lightning bolt of pain streaked through her skull, causing her to drop the phone and crumple to the floor, tears streaming from her eyes as an anguished cry slipped passed her lips.

_Ororo?_ she heard the professor's alarmed telepathic question echo in her mind, distorted to the point that she could barely understand her own name. She remained like that for several long moments before resurfacing, without pain but with a new voice in her head. It was an eerily familiar voice that both comforted and scared her. Jean's. But it wasn't a voice so much as a new insightful clarity, a sudden burst of chaotic thoughts and memories, none of which were her own. There were things that Ororo now just _knew._

Jean was alive; she'd never died. Logan had found her, and there were in a motel just east of Alkali. Jean wasn't exactly stable. She needed Scott.

Ororo, feeling completely normal, opened her eyes and sat up, smoothing her snow white hair as she did so. With apathetic calm, she put the fallen and forgotten phone back on its hook, doubtlessly leaving a frightening message on Scott's cell. Suddenly, chewing Scott out for skipping his classes seemed ridiculously petty. Her friend was rotting in some crap motel; she had to go get her.

"Ororo?" Xavier asked, rushing into the room. He'd gotten an immense shot of pain and had lost all contact with the room's sole occupant a few moments before. It was like she'd been surrounded by mental shields stronger than any he'd ever seen. Now, everything seemed fine. There were no traces of any discomfort at all from Ororo, who was sitting on Scott's floor, her back resting against his bed. "What happened?" he asked with concern.

"I don't know," she replied, rising to her feet, "but we have to go to Canada. Now."

"Canada?" he asked, surprised. Canada was where Logan had taken off to.

"I need you to find Scott," she continued, ignoring his startlement. "He'll want to come with me."

"Ororo, what's going on?" Charles asked anxiously. One of his X-men needing to cross the border – understandable. But two? Something was definitely going on. Ororo turned to look at him with something akin to annoyance.

"Jean wants us to pick her up from the motel," she said as if she were explaining something very simple to someone who has temporarily lost their sanity. Charles continued watching Ororo blankly. "The motel Logan took her to… after he found her at Alkali…" she continued, trying to spur up knowledge that he really shouldn't have known. Suddenly, it clicked.

Logan had confided that he'd been having strange dreams about their mishap at Alkali. Xavier had dismissed them, telling Logan that his already delicate mind was having trouble incorporating another trauma into his psyche. He'd given Logan the address of a local therapist (not that Logan would actually consider the idea) and told him to get some rest. A few weeks later, Logan had disappeared for Canada, declaring Jean alive and waiting. Now, Ororo was hell-bent to pick her supposedly dead friend up from a motel. Ororo wasn't one for the supernatural, so either two of his X-men were sharing a delusion or… Jean was alive.

"My god," Charles whispered, his voice filled with awe. If Jean _was_ alive (he could hardly believe he was even _thinking_ something so unlikely), her telepathic powers would've had to have evolved astronomically for her to have contacted Logan and Ororo from Canada. Clearing his mind, Charles began telepathically searching for Scott. After a moment, he looked up. Scott wasn't on campus; he was coming off of the highway a few miles away. "He's coming," Charles said, realizing how tired such a small exertion had made him. He certainly wasn't in his prime anymore. "Why don't you go meet him in the front yard?" he suggested, hiding his tiredness. Ororo nodded quickly and started down the hall at a jog.)

* * *

Jean was floating contently on the cusp of sleep. She felt warm with soft feather blankets above her and Scott's chiseled chest under her face. Her fingers skimmed over his chest, his stomach, and his thighs languidly. A smile tugged on the corners of her mouth as he started to squirm beneath her attentions. His hand caught hers, gently leading it back up to his shoulder. She frowned, though it was really more of a pout, and tried to free her hand, so she could go back to exploring. 

"Jeannie, wake up," a rough voice said, making Scott's chest rumble. _Wait,_ her sleep-addled mind managed to think, _Scott's not here._ Again, her fingers trailed over the t-shirt clad chest. Scott didn't wear t-shirts…

"Logan!" she squeaked as she shot up in bed, eyes wide open. Her mind raced to retrace her steps to discover how she'd wound up sleeping with someone other than Scott.

The man in her dream wasn't the only illusion. The sheets covering their bodies were scratchy and smelled of way too much bleach instead of the lilac scent that she'd imagined. The sunlight from her dream had been replaced with a dim but harsh lamp light in the room's opposite corner. The sea breeze that had felt so perfect brushing along her skin and had sounded wonderful rushing through her ears had been swapped for a rattling old air conditioner that made the room far too cold. And the book that had been lying in Scott's lap was traded for the remote to the TV resting just above Logan's knee.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, climbing out of the bed. "I wasn't awake. I thought you were… someone else."

"It's alright, Red," Logan said, hiding his slightly wounded pride. "What's a little groping between… us, right?"

"Exactly," she said with a small smile, relieved he was letting her off the hook this time. "I'm glad you understand. So, no need to mention this ever again." A pause. "Um, has anyone called?"

"You mean anyone from the mansion?" he asked as she studied herself in the smudged mirror outside the bathroom. "Nah, Scott and 'Ro left without calling, but Chuck called not too long after they left." A pause. "You could have told me they were coming." She turned from the mirror, looking a bit guilty.

"Sorry, it's just – Well, I called 'Ro without thinking really. With my head." A pause. "But you're right, I should have mentioned it. Uh, I'm going to get in the shower; I'm filthy," Jean said awkwardly.

"I bet. 3 months of lake water'll do that, I guess," he said in an attempt to lighten the suddenly constricting mood.

"3 months?!" Jean cried in amazement. "It seems like it was just yesterday! I thought that it was odd that no one was there but you! I was wondering why no one else was looking for me!" she continued in a rush.

"We did look for you, Jean. All of us did. For almost a month if I remember right. We scanned the lake over a thousand times, but we couldn't find anything. Scott wanted to keep looking – said you were still down there. I guess he was right," Logan explained, dropping his head as he realized how viciously he'd fought Scott on staying at the lake.

"But Scott's not the one that came for me, is he?" she asked coldly, one cool hand cupping his face. Logan's eyes darted up, locking onto hers. There was a fire there, a passion that was new to her. Suddenly, Logan was wary of her; she wasn't in full control behind those eyes.

"You'd better get in the shower. It won't be long before they get here," he said, keeping his face neutral. He thought she might be offended by his rebuttal, but she just smiled sweetly.

"You're right, Logan. Thank you for looking out for me. I wouldn't want to be looking like this when Scott and Ororo get here." Jean turned and gracefully floated into the bathroom, humming as she went. "Oh, Logan – would you mind finding me some clothes?"

"Sure thing, Red," he called after her, still a bit dazed from her wild mood swings.

* * *

Scott was driving well over the speed limit on his way to the Canadian motel. Ororo was sitting next to him in the passenger seat, pretending to read some health magazine, but her eyes kept darting to the speedometer and out the window to the dreary evening outside. It probably wasn't a good thing that the needle was stuck at the bottom of the meter, meaning that they were going over 120 mph. She hated driving. It was so dangerous, especially when the driver insisted on going 50 miles over the speed limit. Of course, she wasn't about to say anything. 

The silence in the van had taken over since she had explained why they had to drive to Canada. Scott hadn't acted surprised at all. He'd just popped the passenger door, and she'd climbed in. Ororo supposed that he was concentrating on the road; at least, she hoped he was. Dying wouldn't be a good thing right now. Scott shifted in his seat beside her, adjusting his seatbelt before continuing his wordless speeding. The silence was driving her crazy. Wasn't he excited? Didn't he want to jump up and down and scream to the world that _he_ was the lucky guy who got the love of his life back from the dead? Didn't he want to… well, show _some _sort of emotion? He wasn't smiling or anything. Just driving.

Maybe he was excited in his head, but didn't want to show it. Maybe that's how adults acted. Ororo spent so much time around the students, who absolutely exuded emotions all the time, that maybe it just seemed odd to be around a normal, restrained adult. Still…

"Scott?" she asked softly, giving up on the magazine in front of her.

"Yeah?" he returned calmly, glancing over at her.

"Nothing." Maybe he was in shock... He shouldn't be acting so normal. They were going to pick up their formerly deceased friend, not a gallon of milk. "Are you excited?" she asked, piping up again.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Really?"

"Yes." He was still staring intently at the road. She sighed.

"Well, I'm excited. I mean, this is great!" Ororo continued, a smile breaking across her face. "We've got her back! All that crying was for nothing!"

"Right," Scott answered, not sounding like he meant it in the least. "What exit did you say it was?"

"The next one. I wonder what we'll do with Henry now. I hope the professor will keep him around; he seems like a character, a good influence on the kids. How about you?" she said, still trying to make conversation.

"I'm sure he's great," Scott answered apathetically.

"You don't like him? I know you weren't thrilled about him coming, but now that you've met him?"

"He's fine, I guess. I don't know, 'Ro. I don't know the man!" he said, frowning at the windshield now.

"I like him," she said, ending the conversation. Scott turned off at the next exit sharply, causing the wheels to squeal and Ororo to grasp at the door handle. "Be careful," she warned, not caring how excited, or shocked, or whatever he was.

"I got it," he muttered, "relax," looking at the name of the motel, which was written on a notepad, which was shoved into a cup holder. "I've aced flying simulations harder than this."

"Yes, but those are simulations, Scott! There are no safety mechanisms here. Be careful," she said again. Scott tightened his jaw and continued to stare expressionlessly at the road. Ororo shifted in her seat and leaned her head against the cool window. She allowed herself to relax, distancing herself from the awkwardness in the van. Looking up at the sky, her eyes slowly clouded over until they were completely white. Thoughtlessly, Ororo swirled the clouds. It was one of her favorite things to do as a child. Normal children had to use their imaginations to see pictures in the clouds; Ororo just made the images she wanted to see. Unconsciously, the clouds began to form a picture she was very familiar with. Before too long, her father's face was smiling down at her, looking just as real to her as he had the day before he was taken from her with light filtering through the clouds in just the right places to give him a glowing ambiance. He'd been so happy that day…

_Twelve year old Ororo raced over the African savannah with the speed and grace of any gazelle toward her father, who was standing on a mound of dirt squinting off into the distance. She reached him quickly and tugged on his arm sharply. _

"_Dad," she said in her native language, still trying to get his attention. "Dad, where are they?" Silently, her father pointed to a mere speck on the horizon. Ororo squinted determinedly, trying with all her might to focus on the small dot. "I don't see them!" she whined with a huff. Her father laughed, a rich sound that rolled across her, filling her with loving warmth. He leaned over and scooped her up onto his shoulders, giving her a better vantage point. Her father wasn't particularly strong by the village standards, but he had grown up on the Kenyan plains, which had given him lean muscles that made him a natural athlete. Ororo, too, was a small, lanky girl compared to the other girls her age in the village. Her black hair fell in waves around her face, half-hiding her deep brown eyes. Most of the girls in the tribe had the same eyes, but they kept their hair short. The other girls had mothers to cut their hair for them, but Ororo's mother had died many years ago, and so her hair hadn't been cut since. It was just one of the many things that the other village children teased her for. She was of the age to be married now, but the tribe had chosen not to give her away until next year, hoping that she would grow up and become beautiful if given another year to mature. _

_The wedding pairing was the event that she and her father were watching now. Men came from all over the area to compete in the wedding pairings. They had to compete in many events against each other, but the overall winner, who was decided upon by the elders, got first pick of that year's girls. Ororo didn't much care that she wasn't being paired. In her eyes, it was just one more precious year she could spend with her father, the only person in the tribe who really liked her. Ororo was too independent to make a good wife. Besides, she told herself, any husband that picked her would probably tease her just as much as the other village children. For now, she was happy._

"_I see them!" she exclaimed with excitement, bouncing slightly on her father's shoulders. The men had finally come far enough to be seen, and they were running at a steady pace toward the village. "Here they come!"_

_There seemed to be one man who was at the forefront of the race. He was a man from a village 6 miles away, and he'd been doing outstandingly well in all of the contests. _

"_Hold on, Oro," her father said in his deep but gentle voice, using his nickname for her. Obediently, she grasped two handfuls of his thick hair and wrapped her legs tightly around his shoulders. Ignoring the death grip his daughter had on him, he started sprinting toward the village along the same route as the racers. Ororo giggled merrily, squealing with delight as they caught up and began passing men in the crowd of runners. Soon enough, her father had caught up with the lead man from 6 miles away. Ororo looked at him with a giant smile and laughed when the man, who was a good 6 inches taller than her father, nearly tripped himself in his surprise. Her father continued his easy lope right up to the finish line, eventually passing the lead man and reaching the group of people who were watching the race with fascination. _

_He slowed to a stop in the center of the crowd, which had parted around him. The crowd cheered, though her father wasn't actually a participant in the competition. With a broad smile, he swung the bright-eyed Ororo down from his shoulders, lowering her to the ground before the other racers arrived. The crowd cheered with renewed vigor as the actual racers ran into the clearing. Now forgotten in the turbulent crowd, Ororo's father ushered her out of the center circle, leaving the racers to their congratulations. _

"_You've still got it, Dad," she said when the reached the outermost rim of the cluster of people, which numbered about 60. Her happy, high-pitched giggles were wearing down, and she was becoming her usual docile self. Her father wasn't stupid; he saw the changes in his daughter when she was around the tribe. She became quiet, shy, and submissive. It was the only way she knew to avoid the other children's ruthless jibes. It made him burn with anger to see his little girl acting so out of character, but it wouldn't have to go on for much longer. Soon enough, he would be taking her out of the tribe to live with his sister in another village a few miles away. If Tahnka allowed it of course… Ororo, however, was oblivious to this information and was perfectly content to suffer the disdain of the rest of the group. She was with her Dad for another year, and if that meant that she had to be the brunt of the village's jokes, it was fine. _

"_Niko!" Tahnka, the village leader, called from a few yards away. Niko, Ororo's father, turned wearily. Relations between Tahnka and Niko had always been strained; it was just one more reason that Niko was planning on leaving. "Up to your trouble-making again?" Niko smiled a forced grin._

"_Just having some fun, Tahnka," he said, wrapping a protective arm around Ororo's small shoulders. Tahnka was a huge, imposing man with muscles and a mean glare to boot. Ororo had learned early on that it was best to avoid him if at all possible; he also had a nasty temper. Tahnka looked at Ororo thoughtfully before turning back to her father._

"_Of course. Enjoy it while you can, brother," Tahnka said as he turned away. Niko frowned slightly; they may be in the same tribe, but he was not, under any definition of the word, Tahnka's "brother." _

"_Is anything wrong, father?" Ororo asked, looking up at her father from her position on the ground. Niko brushed away his bad mood._

"_Not at all," he replied, his carefree nature returning. _

_That night, while Ororo slept, low voices filled her tent. Men spoke in hushed tones just outside the tent flap, her father among them. Firelight from the torches that stood outside the entrance flickered in the warm night air, casting shadows along the tent wall above her resting form like a puppet show of silhouettes. Angry words were exchanged and a short scuffle took place, though Ororo would never know it. When she woke up, her loving father, the only person in the entire tribe who cared for her at all, was gone._

Snapping back to reality, Ororo blinked a few residual tears from her eyes, noticing that the already dreary sky had darkened considerably. She really needed to get a handle on her emotions lately. Wondering how long she'd been daydreaming, she glanced at the dashboard clock. 15 minutes – not too bad. Scott seemed to be as stoic as ever, she noticed as she began to get her bearings.

"We're here," he said as he pulled into the dingy motel's parking lot and stopped in front of the main office. Though Ororo had instinctively known precisely where the motel was, she couldn't remember the room number Logan and Jean were staying in. Shaking the last of the daydream fog from her mind, she hopped out of the SUV and casually walking into the front office to the get information, leaving Scott by himself in the dark car. As impassive as he'd been for the entire drive up, he was now surging with nerves.

Would she look the same? Did he? Had she been hurt? How had she survived? Why did she call Logan and Ororo but not him? That last question in particular bothered him.

His world was again bathed in red by the familiar filter that was his ruby quartz glasses. Sonya said that shed didn't know how long he would be under the radiation's effects, so it was safer for him to wear his glasses for the time being. Scott would know when his dread optic blasts returned in the same way that he'd know that something had changed when they disappeared. Maybe that was what he was really worried about. Would Jean still love him now that he was powerless? She'd always been so passionate about building her own mutation; would she think less of him for choosing to abandon his? It was, he reminded himself, only temporary. If Jean didn't like it, he could just wait for the radiation to wear off and then not visit Sonya for a follow-up. But would he be okay with going back to a red world? He certainly wasn't happy now, he realized as he fingered his glasses. Before he could follow that train of thought, Ororo popped open the passenger side door and hopped back into the seat beside him.

"They're in Room 328. That's just around the corner," she said quickly, excitement mounting in her voice. Obligingly, Scott drove around the corner and parked before a room emblazoned 328. This was it.

* * *

_  
_

Jean came out of the bathroom, feeling fresh from her shower, and settled demurely on the couch, opposite from Logan. He was focusing on the TV and had barely spared her a glance on her way in. Now, she too stared at the TV, though she had no idea what was going on. It looked like it was related to hockey, but the puck had been replaced with some giant, heavy block that glided across the ice and there were no goals.

"What is this?" she asked softly. Logan looked at her as if trying to gage her wildly varying mood. Finally, deeming her safe to talk to, he spoke.

"Curling."

"Oh. Do you play?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going. She felt oddly lonely…

"Nah, I'm too heavy," he answered.

"Oh," she said again. "Um, so, three months, huh?" He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.

"Yeah," he said gently, "3 months." Jean paused before asking her next question, trying to determine how much emotion was behind his short answers.

"What was it like? After I…" she couldn't say it. She hadn't been dead, or she couldn't be alive, which she was.

"We looked for you, but we couldn't find anything. We were all feeling the strain, so Chuck took us home. Scotty wasn't doing so great," Logan explained delicately. Jean cocked her head slightly and squinted her eyes as if trying to remember some obscure fact she'd heard once upon a time.

"Did he… hurt you?" she asked slowly, testing the words to see if they fit. Logan shifted in his seat, an almost half-smile tugging on his lips.

"We got into a little… tussle, but nothing really happened. No big deal," he said, feeling a bit awkward. Jean frowned, sensing that there was more to the story. Logan sighed; he couldn't get anything past this woman. "Look, we were both under a lot of stress, and we needed someone to take it out on. It's out of our systems now." Jean's eyes returned to their normal size.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" she said with quiet surety. Logan raised an eyebrow, sensing that her emotions were about to go on another roller coaster ride. "Logan," she said, turning to him with an insane smile, "I see you." Logan frowned.

"Well, I _am_ sitting right here, Red," he said. She continued as if he'd never spoken.

"Molecule by molecule," she began, revealing the scientist within. "It was never like this in the text books. And your mind…" That jigsaw puzzle mind of his was drawing her attention again, sucking her in with childlike fascination. Logan felt the eerie tingling at the base of his skull.

"Jean-" he began.

"But you don't want me in there," she said, whipping her head away and removing herself from his mind. She sat in calm silence for a moment. "And Charles wouldn't want me in there," she said, returning her vacant stare to the TV screen. Another minute ticked by, silent except for the sporting announcers and cheers coming from the speakers. "But Charles always did hold you back, Jean," she continued, talking, apparently, to herself. "He wouldn't let you reach your true potential; he's too afraid that-" Jean stopped speaking suddenly, her eyes wide and crazed and her body tense. Her voice dropped to a low tone that Logan only picked up on because of his enhanced senses. "He's afraid that you'll become more powerful than him, and he's sending his lackeys to get you!" she rushed on. Jean's demeanor changed completely. Her face took on a terrified look, and she huddled back into the couch. "What will they do to me?" she asked herself fearfully. Logan, watching in complete startlement, began slowly extending a hand toward her, like he would with a frightened animal. Jean had changed again, facial features reverting back to angry and hateful as she spoke. "They're going to hurt you! Tie you up and take your powers! Is that what you want?!" Scared Jean returned but not fully, melding with Angry Jean to make a face that looked almost like Normal Jean. Her babbling, however, was anything but normal. "No!" she exclaimed. "I have to fight them! I can't let them – Stay away from me!!" Jean cried wildly, slapping Logan's slowly nearing hand away. Now Logan stepped in.

"Jean, no one's going to hurt you," he said calmly, though the hair on the back of his neck was positively prickling. "We love you; we're your friends, remember?" Jean's eyes widened again.

"You! You're one of them! Stay away from me!" she screamed, telekinetically tossing him off the couch and throwing him into the TV with such force that Logan felt himself black out for a moment as electricity pulsed through his metal bones and sparks showered him from the demolished TV. He managed to roll away from the wreckage, rising to his feet before the electricity had fully left his body. The smell of his own scorched flesh assaulted his nose, but he took a step toward Jean, who was backed into the room's far corner.

"Jean, stop it! No one wants to hurt you!" he tried to exclaim.

"You stop it, you monster!" she cried back, smacking him with a surprisingly weak burst of power that only caused him to stagger back a step. She was getting weaker? She didn't look tired. He started forward again. Jean frantically hit him back through the bathroom wall, sending plaster and drywall up in a dust cloud through the room. Nope, definitely not getting weaker, Logan realized as he lifted himself to his feet. She couldn't control it.

"I don't wanna hurt you, Red!" he called, stepping back into the main room and hoping she wouldn't throw him again. She didn't, but she stood her ground. Logan took the moment to wipe some blood from a now healed head wound. "Jean, think about this," he said, regaining her attention. "Charles raised you; he took you in and loved you as one of his own. What has he ever done to hurt you?" Logan asked, slowly walking closer to the trembling Scared Jean. "He's not gonna hurt you now – no one is." Jean looked up at him, seeming to finally trust him.

"You promise?" she asked hopefully, looking at him with big, wet eyes. Logan nodded.

"Yeah," he confirmed gently. Suddenly, Jean lowered her head, and her eyes flickered closed. Something changed in her face, causing goosebumps to spread across his body as Angry Jean began to reemerge. Not risking another encounter with Normal Jean's crazed counterpart, Logan followed his instincts and tackled her. He wasn't sure what good it would do; she could just throw him off again, but something told him it was the best thing to do. His heavy body landed on top of her, dragging her to the ground and pinning her there. Jean screamed and lashed out with her hands instead of her telekinesis. Logan could handle physical attacks easily; he grabbed her flailing limbs and gently but firmly held her to the ground. Scott and Ororo chose that exact moment to kick down the motel room's door.

* * *

Scott stared at the door he was parked in front of… Room 328. Looking around the parking lot, he saw _his_ motorcycle parked a few spots away, a sure sign that Logan was in the area. His eyes settled again on the room door in front of him, and he took a deep breath. His world was on the other side of that door. Ororo gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you ready?" she asked calmly, bright brown eyes boring into his. He nodded and slowly unbuckled his seatbelt. Following suit, Ororo got out of the car. The duo walked to the door and paused before knocking. Out of the corner of her eye, Ororo saw Scott smiling. She turned to him and happily returned the broad smile before raising her hand to knock. Before her hand made contact with the cheap door, a terrified scream leaked through the wall. Scott's eyes widened; that was Jean. Without any hint of hesitance, he nudged Ororo out of the way and kicked the door in, successfully shattering the wimpy lock. The door opened to reveal a disaster area.

Plaster dust was settling to the floor, masking the old gray carpet in a blanket of white. The wall to the room's bathroom was broken, explaining all of the plaster, and tile littered the floor. On the other side of the room, a shattered TV mixed with the broken desk it had been sitting on, still sparking dangerously. What horrified him the most, though, was in the corner beside the bed. Logan was lying on top of his precious Jean, who was struggling desperately. Ororo, who had followed him into the room, stopped and gasped just over the threshold. Scott was burning with rage. Logan looked up quickly, looking startled – a look not at all common for him.

* * *

Remember: Just one review per chapter makes starving artists who are not actually starving (me) feel all warm and fuzzy inside. While it may not fix the starving part, it greatly improves morale!! 


	8. Chapter 8

Yay! More fic! As of tomorrow, finals are over, which means I'll have nothing to do but write more of this story! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, cherished, loved, adored, printed out for framing... You get the idea. And remember, your reviews often fuel the story! I have to get inspiration from somewhere when my muse goes on vacation. Oh, and I hope none of you are too squeamish. Am I still talking? Sorry, sorry, read!

* * *

Sonya tinkered around her lab, practically bouncing in her excitement. The fear of the unidentified caller from the day before had begun to fade from her mind, hurried along by the bustling giddiness that overcame her whenever she thought of her ongoing experiment. So far, she hadn't heard from Scott since his brief call to ask for directions, but she supposed it was for the better. He was, after all, going to call her if he noticed any problems. No call meant no trouble, right? 

Right, she assured herself as she wandered over to the rat cage along the far wall of the room. Today would be the day that she got it right. She'd adjusted the settings on her machine yet again and was eager to test it. Lightly humming to herself, she pulled on a pair of fresh gloves and reached into the rat cage, trying to grab one of the unnaturally colorful rats. The rats squeaked loudly, panicking and scurrying into their plastic shelters. Gently, Sonya shushed them and allowed her hand to settle in the cage, confusion creasing her brow. Her rats were never fearful. In fact, they were specifically bred for their calm, relaxed dispositions. Something was up. Moving slowly so not to frighten them further, she lifted one of the brightly colored shelters and pulled out the rat beneath, which had curled itself into a tightly packed ball. The rat she quickly identified as a female who'd already been tested on, Ginger. Ginger, before being radiated, had been a deep Persian red, hence the name. Now, she was a stark albino white five days after her first dose of radiation. Rodents had a much faster metabolism, so five days was quite impressive. Other test rats had reverted back from their mutated state within only two or three days. This meant one of two things: Sonya was getting the settings on the machine right or Ginger was an anomaly. Either way, Ginger needed to be run through all the standard tests to make sure that the radiation wasn't causing any unwanted side effects. Sonya delicately wrapped her hand around the small rodent and began raising her from the cage, righting the plastic house with her other hand. Ginger sprang to life in her grasp, twisting to escape and biting sharply at the hand that held her captive. Sonya adjusted her hold to avoid the sharp teeth that were coming dangerously close to biting through her gloves. Ginger was usually so mild mannered, her vicious attacks were now quite surprising. Sonya couldn't imagine what could have her so worked up, though her mind drifted to a show she'd seen in which animals in a pet shop had gone crazy shortly before the recent tsunami in the Philippines. Softly cooing to the struggling animal, Sonya walked over to her mini exam table. Already lying there, strapped down to the table as if awaiting surgery, was one of her pre-radiation rats – dead. Sonya shrieked and nearly dropped the terrified Ginger, who was desperately writhing and squealing to get away. Quickly, Sonya returned Ginger to her cage, securely latching the cage door as the rat scurried back to what it considered safety.

Slowly, Sonya turned back to the macabre scene on her table. The rat strapped there was a colorfully mutated female named Biv. To Sonya's horror, she realized that the poor rat hadn't just been killed; she'd been downright dissected. It was hard to see through the blood, which had matted the dark indigo fur thickly, but it looked as if most of the damage had been done with a single cut on the rat's side, from just below her ear to right in front of her thigh muscle. Her organs had been roughly ripped from the lifeless body and spread on the table without care, resulting in a rust-colored streak across the area. Another deep cut ran from the bottom of the rat's chin, down the entire length of the belly, to end at the tip of her tail, exposing the gutted animal's bones to the world. The final, and perhaps most horrifying detail of the gruesome visual rested at the head of the table, where the rat's eyes, as violet as the now bloody fur, stared back at Sonya, completely dismembered from their owner.

Sonya's gloved hand, seemingly of its own accord, slowly stroked the disemboweled rat's face with what could be compared to a mother's tenderness. It wasn't until she pulled her hand away and saw the still drying blood smeared on her sterile surgical glove that the shaking began; a slight trembling that built exponentially until her entire body was practically spasming. She'd seen the reaction before; it was a sure sign that she was going into shock.

_Don't touch anything!_ the logical side of her mind warned, present even in her current rattled state. It was one of the curses of being a scientist; she was analytical almost to the point of detachment, so even when all she wanted to do was scream and freak out, she thought with a frighteningly rational clarity. But one of her rats?! Sonya had never considered her lab rats friends or even pets, but they were a huge part of her research--which was her life. Why would someone attack her rats?

She stumbled over to the phone on the far wall, leaving the rat carcass strapped to the table undisturbed. Her quivering hand clutched the phone to her ear, and she listened as the steady dial tone mingled with her own hitching breaths. Forcing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself, she focused on that dial tone. One pitch. One stable, secure pitch. It seemed so out of place in her chaotic mind. Suddenly, she was reminded of the strange phone call from the day before. She half expected that same eerie voice to click onto the line and send her into a heart attack before the rat-slicing psychopath could come for her. Instead, the dial tone remained, reassuring her that this was reality and not some B-rated horror movie. Calmly, she lowered the phone back to its receiver, silencing the unwavering tone.

She couldn't call the police like any normal citizen. Since she'd been kicked out of the U.S. Department of Scientific Defense, her license had been revoked. So, technically, the entire operation she was running was illegal. Well, there was no technically about it. Point being, she couldn't exactly call the police. Not unless she wanted to go to jail and have all of her work confiscated by the very organization that fired her. No way in Hell they'd get her research. Abruptly, she turned from the phone and clomped over to her desk, which was littered with papers, folders, pens, and markers in a variety of styles and colors. Ignoring the clutter on top, she went straight for the first desk drawer, rummaging around until she pulled out a small leather bound book. She dropped the book on the desk, glancing only briefly as slips of paper and research whisked themselves onto the floor to make room for the heavy book. Quickly, she flipped through the pages, some of them yellowed and dusty, until she came to the newest entry. Now she paused, staring at the crisp pen writing on the pages with uncertainty. No, there was no room for uncertainty. He was the only person she could tell. She returned to the phone and, without even noticing the dial tone that had so fascinated her only moments ago, dialed the number from the book, leaving a rust colored smudge on each of the buttons with her still gloved hands.

"Hello, Xavier's School for the Gifted," a voice on the other end of the line answered with the boredom that only comes from repeating the line every time the phone rang. "How may I help you?"

"Hello," Sonya began resolutely, "I need to speak with Mr. Scott Summers."

"_Professor _Summers," the young man corrected, "isn't here right now. Would you like to leave a message for him?"

"Uh," Sonya paused for a moment before deciding there was no harm in leaving her name, "yes, please. But first, may I ask to whom I'm speaking?"

"Bobby," the boy answered cautiously. _Might not even be his real name, _Sonya thought.

"Ok, just tell him to call Sonya as soon as possible," she said.

"Does he already have the number?" Bobby questioned when Sonya didn't supply a number.

"Yes. And Bobby, make sure he gets the message, but mum's the word, dearest," she added.

"Yeah," Bobby answered, wondering what sort of people Scott was hanging out with now.

"Thank you," Sonya said politely, ignoring his noncommittal attitude.

"No problem. Bye," he said shortly before hanging up the phone and turning back down the hall.

"Who was that?" Kitty asked Bobby as he hung up the phone, falling into step with him.

"I don't know. Someone for Professor Summers," he replied, wordlessly taking the textbooks she was carrying.

"Do you think Mr. Summers has been gone a lot lately?" Kitty asked, slightly hesitant.

"_Professor_ Summers," Bobby corrected. Scott taught college courses too; that, in Bobby's eyes, made him a professor. Kitty rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. But don't you think so?" she asked again.

"I don't know, Kit-Kat. I guess, but since after the attack on the president, there's been a lot of tension. Peter was telling me about a riot he got to help break up a few days ago. The X-men are crazy busy lately, that's all," Bobby said.

"If you say so, but when I was on control room duty last night, I didn't see a write-up for any mission that he might've gone on that day he just disappeared on us," she said doubtfully.

"You're not supposed to go through the mission write-ups when you're on control room!" Boy said, a smile pulling at his lips. Kitty's face colored to a brilliant shade of pink.

"Well, I…There's not exactly much to do in there. It's not like people have a habit of visiting us in the middle of the night. And hacking computers gets old so quickly now that the professor won't let me hack the government bases," she stammered bashfully. She took a breath to regain her composure. "But that's not the point, Robert," she said, purposefully dropping his real name to show her annoyance at being backed into a corner. "The point is Mr. Sum-"

"You have a really pretty blush," Bobby said out of the blue.

"I, what?" Kitty said with surprise. Bobby, now with a blush of his own, turned to look down the hall.

"Well, you do," he said simply, studying the painting beside him on the wall. There was another awkward silence.

"Why, thank you," she said softly, after a moment. Slowly, she extended her hand to hold his empty one. _God, what am I doing?_she asked herself frantically. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she looked at Bobby, trying to gage his reaction. She was about to lose one of her best friends, she realized suddenly. Either Bobby would reject her, and the awkwardness would sever the strong bond they'd built over the last five years. If he didn't pull away, her friendship with Rogue was finished for sure. The tense moment only lasted for a few seconds, but then Bobby relaxed, molding his hand to hers sweetly.

"You have science now, right?" Kitty asked, trying to act as normal as possible. She'd made it this far; she didn't want to scare him away now.

"Yeah, Chemistry," he answered, holding her hand more tightly.

"Too bad. Ms. Munroe isn't here, so that new doctor is subbing the English and Science classes. He's a genius! I couldn't understand a word he said!" Kitty griped.

"Whoa, _you_ couldn't understand him?!" Bobby said with surprise. Kitty was one of the smartest kids in the school.

"I'm screwed," he added forlornly.

"I'm sure Ms. Munroe will have to reteach it when she gets back. No one understood anything," Kitty consoled him. Bobby looked at her, a scheme quickly forming behind his eyes.

"So why bother going?" he asked mischievously. Kitty giggled appreciatively, rolling her eyes at his sense of humor. It was one of the things she lov-liked about him. She swallowed dryly, uncomfortable with the way her thoughts were turning. She couldn't possibly love him; they were just friends. Friends who were holding hands. Besides, if she didn't love him, she shouldn't be doing this to Rogue…or Bobby. But did she? Could it happen that quickly? Well, five years wasn't exactly quickly, but…"You still with me, Kit-Kat? Did you hear me?" Bobby asked, stopping their progress down the hall and looking at her strangely.

"Uh, yeah," she said, pulling herself from her thoughts. He looked at her skeptically. "No…" she admitted. "What'd you say?" Bobby beamed at her jovially.

"I asked if you want to go get an early lunch with me."

"Now?" she asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Yeah," he answered warmly. Kitty glanced around the hall nervously.

"But you'll miss Chemistry," she whispered, though there was no one else around. Bobby chuckled.

"That's the point! C'mon, it's on me," he said, tugging at the hand he still held captive. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be led toward the garage. As they pulled out of the driveway, the late bell to fifth period rang through the campus, and she had to ask herself, _Am I crazy?_

_

* * *

_

Wanda Maximoff sat cross-legged on the cold, stone floor of the basement. Idly, she dragged her pale fingers through the small, gray mound of dirt before her. She was supposed to do something to that dirt, though she really had no idea what. She sighed and wiped her fingers on her green cargo pants. Looking up, she regarded the old man standing about six feet away on the other side of the force field. The force field – she despised it. It was see-through without the slightest tinge of color. The only way she could tell it was on was if she looked through it; there was a wavering quality to the objects on the other side, almost like looking around outside on a steamy summer day after it had rained. That strange waver and the nearly inaudible hum that resounded from the motor were her only clues that she was still contained.

"For our safety," her father had told her when he'd first introduced her to the force field almost a year ago. One of her father's cronies had whipped it up just for her to use "until she got her powers under control." All this time and Magneto still wasn't sure what her power was, much less how to control it. Said man stood passively before her, watching with sharp blue eyes and wearing his anti-telepathy helmet. Always with that stupid helmet, she thought bitterly, snapping her gaze to the barren wall beside her with such force that her scarlet-streaked, black, shoulder-length hair bobbed against her face for a moment before settling back into place. Taking a deep breath, Wanda returned her attention to the pile of dirt. After a moment of disappointing nothingness, she looked up, glaring at Magneto.

"It's not working," she complained. "It's not working, and I'm sick of trying."

"You will try again, and this time, you will focus," Magneto answered shortly. Wanda huffed in frustration, feeling the tingle in the back of her skull that reminded her that her uncontrolled power lurked just beneath her consciousness. "If you would've actually tried when you were a child, you would have complete control already. Like your brother," Magneto continued, carelessly pushing her buttons as only he could.

"Shut up!" she shouted at him, glaring viciously. There was a sudden flicker of the overhead lights, and the maddening hum of the force field's motor died. Eyes suddenly wide with fright, Wanda scooted back into the corner of the room, knees curled up to her chin. She hadn't meant to do that. Unphased, Magneto sighed with disgust and turned to the doorway.

"Pietro!" he shouted. Before the word finished echoing around the empty basement, a tall man with platinum white hair and startlingly blue eyes appeared at his side. Pietro looked at Magneto expectantly. "Your sister has overloaded the motor – again. I thought the alterations you made last time were supposed to stop this from happening?"

"They were supposed to, Erik," Pietro said quickly. Faster than the human eye can register, the man was kneeling beside the motor, prying off the cover. In a few short seconds, he sighed, replacing the cover and unattaching the motor from the wall. "I'll see if I can fix it, but this time, we'll probably need a new motherboard. Whatever she did, it was the biggest blast yet." Magneto looked at Wanda passively.

"Go fix it, Pietro," he said, never moving his gaze from the huddled woman on the floor.

"Wait, what am I supposed to do?"

"Just stay where you are. And try not to do anything stupid," Magneto responded coldly, turning to the doorway which led to the rest of the building.

* * *

"Can anyone tell me the definition of the scientific term, PTC?" Hank asked at the start of his second chemistry class as he crouched on top of Ororo's impeccably neat desk. Timidly, Tiffani raised her hand. Hank nodded at her politely.

"Phenylthiocarbamide?" she asked, reading from the notebook splayed on the desk she sat at.

"Indubitable work, young lady," Hank said with a wide, fanged grin. "That's precisely the substance we shall be using in our scientific experimentation this period. Now, personally, I've always deemed phenylthiocarbamide testing as a biogenetic testing experience; however, your esteemed Ms. Munroe has determined that that's what we should use in her leave of absence." The children groaned; Ororo always left PTC experiments when she was gone. "But soft! Am I detecting a bit of discontent among my benevolent pupils? Perhaps I have made the mistake of hiding my enthusiasm for the chemical? Quite the dilemma. Say, would you all mind exiting the classroom and re-entering after a moment? I assure you that I will be much more aptly prepared to carry out my scholarly substitute duties on the second try," Hank said, hopping off the desk. The student looked at each other uneasily.

"Um, Dr. McCoy," Sam Guthrie piped up with exasperation, "could we _not_ do _another_ PTC experiment? We've only done like twenty this semester." Hank stroked his chin curiously.

"So, it is the subject matter and not my grievous overlook that is creating the downcast mood? Tell me, good sir," Hank said, looking at Sam with curious blue eyes, "what would you prefer we did to pass the time?" Sam blinked with surprise before a mischievous smile broke across her face.

"Well, there's some nitroglycerin in the supply closet…" he said. The class laughed appreciatively, but, to their surprise, Dr. McCoy walked toward the closet at the back of the lab area.

"Generally speaking, I refrain from using explosives in educational settings, but you've convinced me. Enough young people are swayed away from careers in advanced science because of repetitive school courses without me adding to the number. Now, who's got the steadiest hands?"

* * *

Scott's fingers nimbly turned the dial on the side of his visor, trying to train the extinguished energy to its lethal setting out of habit. He could feel Ororo grabbing his arm, ready to pull it away from his visor if he so much as twitched. She was angry as well, the sudden continuous thunder overhead told him that, but she was keeping her head. That was just one of the things that made her an excellent co-leader. 

"Logan, what's going on?" Ororo asked, adding to Scott's threat in a cautious but icy voice.

"Help me!" Jean shouted. "Scott, help!" Scott's fingers pressed down on the visor's dial sharply, surprising himself when no blast erupted from it. _Oh._ Not noticing Scott's hesitation, Ororo rushed into the room, physically ripping Logan off her now sobbing best friend. Logan allowed himself to be dragged off, even helped in the endeavor, and backed toward the door cautiously.

"Jean, are you okay? Did he hurt you?" she asked, pulling Jean to her feet. Jean shook her head, tears still dripping down her face with fright. Assured that Jean wasn't in any immediate danger, Ororo turned her attention to Logan, a loud crack of thunder the only sign of her displeasure. Logan stood his ground but wisely kept his distance from the angry weather witch.

"What happened?" she asked him, not sparing a glance as Scott rushed across the room to hold his previously deceased girlfriend.

"It's not what it looks like," Logan began. Another burst of thunder shook the room.

"I would hope not," Ororo replied in a clipped voice, her eyes clouding over with a white opacity.

"She attacked me," he said defensively. Why was he trying to justify himself?

"Yes, that's believable," she shot back, looking at her crying friend, who was sheltered in Scott's strong arms.

"You don't want to believe me, fine. Just wait till she turns on you," Logan said, turning to leave the demolished motel room. Another deafening clap of thunder marked his exit into the damp afternoon air. Scott looked from the fuming Ororo to the empty doorway to the trembling red-head in his arms. He sighed and gently tucked her head under his chin. Amazingly, there wasn't a scratch on her. After a moment, Ororo joined them in the huddle, soothingly hugging both people. The storm outside had died down, returning to its natural overcast but silent state. Time froze as the three sat, thinking about the gift they'd been given and thanking whatever gods they believed in that they'd been handed the opportunity. No one noticed that Jean's mood had swung again, her tears stopping just as quickly as they'd begun. And neither Ororo nor Scott thought it odd that she pulled away and suggest that they head home after only a few short moments. To them, it was just normal Jean. After all, why would they question a miracle?

* * *

Jubilee was getting disappointed. Bobby, her partner in crime, had yet to show up for lunch. Considering that Bobby was a bottomless pit, this surprised her. Where was he? Impatiently, she swiveled in her seat to look at the cafeteria door again. Still no Bobby. 

"Where is he?" she asked out loud, looking at Rogue.

"Jubes, I didn't know 10 minutes ago, and I don't know now," Rogue said with mild annoyance. "Where's Kitty?" Jubilee frowned.

"Good point. Try his cell," she suggested. "And where _is_ Kitty?" Rogue shook her head around her soda as she finished gulping it down.

"Scott took his cell away when he found out that Bobby was using it to orchestrate his pranks. And he was using it in class," she informed Jubilee. Tiffani, who was now sitting with the group on a regular basis, frowned.

"So is Bobby like the school prankster?" she asked curiously. Jubilee wrinkled her nose.

"Typical. I do all the work, and he gets all the credit."

"Jubilee and Bobby have been entertaining the school since forever," Rogue informed them.

"Where _is_ he?" Jubilee asked for the fifteenth time in thirty minutes. This time, Rogue ignored her.

"They get really elaborate with them too," she continued her conversation with Tiffani.

"And I've got a great one for this weekend!" Jubilee squeaked with excitement. "But if he doesn't get here within the next 2 minutes, he's not going to be in on it."

"Good, less time in detention for him," Rogue said, rolling her eyes.

"No, no, no. No detention this time. This is the perfect prank. They'll have no idea what's going on," Jubilee said happily. "By the way, have you guys seen Boom-boom?" Rogue's eyes widened.

"Please give me at least an hour's notice before you do whatever it is that you're going to do," Rogue begged.

"Bobby!!" Jubilee exclaimed, jumping up from the table at the sight of the wayward boy. She intercepted him before he could reach the table, guiding him back out the door so they could plot in private. Kitty, however, who entered with Bobby, was left alone. Gratefully, she plopped down beside Tiffani at the table.

"What's up, guys?" she asked happily.

"Where were you?" Rogue asked curiously.

"Bobby and I went to that Chinese restaurant for lunch. We brought fortune cookies," Kitty explained, digging the cookies out of her bag and offering them to the group. "Where are they going?" she asked, gesturing to the door Jubilee and Bobby had just left through.

"Apparently, Jubilee's got some great prank that she wants him in on," Rogue explained, reaching for a cellophane wrapped fortune cookie.

"Hmmm… _You will make a great ally_," Tiffani read hers aloud. "Vague but cool."

"Let's see," Kitty said, cracking her open and taking a bite of the dessert. "I've got, _The fun side of a relationship begins to unfold_," she read, sounding guilty only to her own ears. Her cheeks started to burn, but Rogue didn't notice.

"_The skills you have gathered will one day come in handy_," Rogue read, adding her own fortune to the mix. "Lovely. Just as vague as yours, Tiff," she said with a grin. Tiffani laughed softly. Overhead, the bell chimed through the cafeteria, alerting the students to turn in their trays and get to class. "Well, off to Self-defense with me," Rogue said, rising from the table and dropping her remaining cookie in the trashcan.

* * *

Wanda, in her room, angrily threw clothes into the duffel bag on her bed. She'd completely emptied her closet, leaving hangers randomly tossed on the floor, the bed, and the dresser. She cleaned out another drawer, dropping the armful of clothing into her bad haphazardly before turning to the bathroom, which was just down the hall. Blindly, she scooped in shampoo, conditioner, and soaps, among other things. She wasn't even sure if everything she grabbed was hers. But then, she didn't really care, she realized as she returned to her room.

She had to get out of here; she couldn't take it any more. She received too much grief from her father to have to put up with his lackeys as well. And of course, Pietro, the golden child, was given the whole fucking world while she got shit. Well, she'd had enough. Magneto was going to have to find someone else to experiment on because she was leaving – consequences be damned. Finally, she dropped her bag on the bedroom floor and heaved her mattress up. Silently, the door opened and clicked shut again.

"Where're you going?" the familiar voice asked. Without sparing her brother a glance, Wanda continued shoving her mattress until it fell onto the floor on the other side of the bad.

"Away," she answered gruffly, gathering the meager treasure she found beneath the mattress and sticking it in her pockets.

"I figured," he snapped, moving from the doorway to beside her in the blink of an eye. "But specifically."

"I don't know yet," she answered half-honestly. She had a destination in mind, but there was no way to know how she would be received when she got there.

"That's not too bright," he responded without thinking. The look she gave him was sharp enough to slice through steel. "Wait here," he said.

"Why, so you can go get Magneto?" she accused. Rolling his eyes, he disappeared from the room, a brief gust of air the only sign that he'd been there. He was back before the minute had passed, wallet in hand.

"Take this," he said, pressing the warm leather into her hand. Finally, meeting his eyes, she closed her fingers around the wallet.

"What, is there a tracking device in here?" she asked stiffly, concealing her gratitude.

"You know I don't let him track me," Pietro said with a smile, recognizing her defense tactic. Wanda regarded him warily for a moment before relaxing and peering into the wallet.

"My God, P! There must be nearly a thousand dollars in here!"

"And my bus pass," he returned with a grin, again closing the wallet in her grasp. "Take it."

"Thank you," she said calmly, forcing herself to control her emotions.

"No problem. You've got thirty minutes before I come in here and find you gone, 'kay?" he said, backing toward the door. She nodded mutely. "Ya know, he doesn't check my cell," he continued.

"I'll call you when I'm safe," Wanda answered.

"Good."

"Good," she repeated. Awkwardly, Pietro stepped forward, wrapping her in a hug that was strange because of its rarity. It only lasted a moment, but it was quite possibly the closest the twins had ever been. Pietro stepped back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Well," she broke in, zipping and scooping her bag onto her shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, watching his sister prepare to leave. "This is it." She nodded again. "Bye," he said. And then he was gone.

Wanda looked around her disheveled room one final time, shifting the weight of her bag on her shoulder. The place was a mess. _Good,_ she thought bitterly, _more for them to clean up._ Then, stepping over the rubbish that littered the floor, she walked out of her room for the last time. Luckily for her, the security system failed just as she reached the breach point, leaving her free to make her escape.

* * *

And coming next time! Jean's return to the mansion! The introduction of a few new characters! And maybe, just maybe (if I get lots of reviews...) we'll get a visit from my favorite Cajun!


	9. Chapter 9

Real life is a bit hectic right now, but I'll try to get up at least 1 or 2 more chapters before I have to go off to boarding school. I've got a lot planned for this fic, so I hope you guys will bear with me... if you're still out there... Reviews make me happy!!

* * *

Rogue was waiting in the garage when Logan pulled up on his motorcycle. Hands on her hips and a frown on her face, she tramped over to where he stood waiting for her. She shoved his shoulder with a more than friendly force and, at his surprise, began lecturing.

"What the hell, Logan! Where were you? What do you think gives you the right to just take off on me like that? Did you think I wasn't going to notice you were missing for 3 days? Are you that stupid? Well, I'm gonna make this clear to you. You have a place here, people who care about you, a family. You have friends and responsibilities not only to those people, but to the students and the school! You can't just take off without telling anyone anymore! Remember Self Defense 101? Yeah, that class you promised you'd teach. Well, guess who subbed for you – or did you forget to put in for a substitute while you were on your impromptu vacation? That must be it because I had to sit through an hour and a half of 'Where's Logan, Rogue?' and 'What happened to our teacher, Rogue?' And the sad thing is, they expect me to know! Me, who you barely even care enough about to tell when you take off!" She paused to compose herself. Her face was flushed with anger and passion, and her throat was dry from the nonstop ranting. Logan took advantage of the moment.

"I did tell you I was leaving, and I told Chuck I was leaving. I'm sorry about your class, kid-"

"Don't call me kid! I'm an adult now! 18 is the national age of adulthood. Besides, any _telling_ you did was done when I was half asleep!" she broke in.

"Marie, then," he said with exasperation. "Sorry about your class, but I told the professor; it was his job to find a sub. Besides, I found something important."

"No, Logan. _I_ told the professor. And there's always something important going on with you, isn't there? Anything to dump your responsibilities." Logan grabbed her shoulders and directed her towards the van. Jean, Scott, and Ororo were just getting out of. Rogue's eyes widened.

"I found something important," he said again.

"Oh," she said, staring after the group as they went inside. "So, that dream I had…"

"Dream _we_ had," he corrected.

"Oh," she said again. She turned back to face him slowly and said, "Logan, I'm sorry. I shouldn'ta jumped down your throat like that. I didn't even give you a chance to explain or anything. And it's not like I'm your mother or anything. I had no right to-" she said apologetically.

"Yeah," Logan interrupted, "you did." An awkward silence flooded the garage. Logan shifted his bag on his shoulder and glanced around the room for a distraction. Finding none, he went for the direct approach. "So, what'd I miss?"

"Uh, we got a new doctor," she said hesitantly. Logan began walking toward the stairs that led to the main house.

"New doctor, huh?" he said as she matched his pace.

"Yeah. His name's Dr. Hank McCoy, and he's supposed to look weird or something."

"Weirder than you?" Logan asked with a sideways glance. Rogue cut him a mischievous look and shoved him into the wall. His grin broke out and started an all-out war. With a light slap to the back of her head, he took off down the hall. Rogue tore after him with a giggle.

She knew she'd never catch him. Not this way, at least, but maybe… Rogue turned down one of the hallways that branched out through the girls' dorms, a plan already forming in her mind. Logan had kept going straight, which probably meant he was going to the kitchen. She raced along until she reached the main hall. There, she ducked behind a pillar. This would be too easy. All she had to do was wait for him to come by and tackle him. A grin spread over her face at her assured victory.

Logan cast a glance over his shoulder to see if she'd given up yet. Doing a double take, he realized she'd disappeared. She was getting creative – trying to trap him. Good, maybe he finally had some competition. He continued on his course to the kitchen. A chestnut head popped out from behind a pillar for a split second. Logan smirked. She would not win.

Rogue listened to Logan's footsteps racing down the hall, waiting for her chance to catch him off guard. Any second now, she could jump from behind the pillar and finally –_finally_- Logan would be beaten. Any second, yup, any time now, she thought impatiently. Listening intently, she realized she didn't hear him barreling down the hall. Her forehead crinkled in confusion. She had seen him coming down the hall, and there wasn't a hall or even a room between where she'd seen him and where she was hiding. She had seen him, hadn't she?

When the silence continued for what seemed like hours, but was probably just a moment or two, her curiosity got the best of her. Rogue leaned around the corner to come face to face with Logan. He tackled her with a wolfish grin while she half-heartedly tried to push him off. After giving her a thorough tickling, he pinned her arms on either side of her body with his gloved hands and sat up, straddling her waist.

"And what did you do wrong?" he asked smugly. She tested his grip on her wrists before giving up with a sigh.

"I was too impatient," another sigh, "again."

"And what are you going to do next time?"

"I'm gonna-" she began, "hey! I'm not telling you!" Logan chuckled and freed her hands.

"Good plan though. Mighta worked if you hadn't stuck your head out," he paused as though in deep thought, "but, you did." Rogue mock glared at him and lunged at his shoulders. He easily moved out of the way while maintaining his basic position. Catching her hands again, he pinned her completely. "Nice try," he commented wryly.

"I'll scream," she warned jokingly.

"No you won't," he answered matter-of-factly.

"Oh really?" she questioned before taking an exaggerated deep breath. Logan quickly covered her mouth with his hand, unintentionally freeing one of her hands. The hand whipped up to grab at his neck while he tried to dodge. She bit the gloved hand covering her mouth sharply, drawing a wince from him and filling her mouth with the taste of well-worked leather. She thought she was in the process of turning the tables on him, and she may have been, until he stopped fighting and stared suddenly ahead, from where he'd come.

She risked a glance up at his face before he abruptly released her and rose to his feet. With a frown, she stood and looked where he was looking. She saw a big blue bear making its way down the hall toward them, looking very angry. Logan's hand balled into fists upon the bear's arrival, but Rogue recognized the figure as the new doctor. Her gloved hand lightly grabbed one of his.

"I think that's Dr. McCoy," she whispered in his ear. Logan spared her a glance, but said nothing as Hank stopped in front of them.

"What's going on here?" Hank asked sharply.

"None of your business, fur ball," Logan snapped back. Hank's frown deepened, but instead, he turned to Rogue.

"Are you all right, miss?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Rogue answered, slightly dazed.

"Please notify me if this," Hank glanced at Logan, "ruffian disturbs you again. I would be happy to inform him how to treat a lady." She nodded mutely, too speechless to say anything. Then, with another sour glance at Logan, he stepped around the duo and continued down the hall. Logan turned, obviously intending to show Hank what he thought about the other man's offer of protection.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping into his path. He took another step toward Hank, and, coincidentally, her before she put her hands on his chest gently. "It's okay. Just let it go." Logan blinked twice, as though coming out of a trance.

"Asshole," he muttered before turning and walking down the hall away from Hank's receding form. Rogue sighed and looked toward each man in turn. Which to go after first? Should she go after Dr. McCoy and correct his version of events or Logan to try to calm him down before something else wound up broken? Praying Logan would take his anger to the Danger Room, she turned toward the new doctor and started down the hall. She wandered along, looking for the nearest blue genius, but to her frustration, he had disappeared. Like a ghost. Where could he have gone? He wasn't in any classrooms or guest rooms. The lounge, cafeteria, and rec room were similarly deserted. There were people there of course; the school never slept. But there was no one she wanted to talk to. Growing frustrated, she looked out the window, hoping to catch sight of him in the garden or maybe on the basketball court. It was well after dark now, and any luck of spotting his deep indigo fur eluded her. Finally, she returned to her room, giving up on the hunt for the night. Besides, Jean was back! There would be clusters of girls all throughout the wing, gossiping and exchanging ideas on the details of her resurrection. Was it a resurrection though? Had she ever really died? Jubilee would know. Her attention now otherwise occupied, Rogue completely forgot about Hank and any misperceptions he might have.

* * *

For Ororo, Scott, and Jean, the trip back to Westchester was consumed with the same quiet that had dominated the trip up. This new quiet, however, was one of resplendent awe instead of awkward disbelief. Scott's mood had done a complete flip, and he kept looking back into the seat behind him, where Jean was stretched out under a space blanket, resting her fiery red head against the window in a sort of dazed trance. Still, the endless silence was unsettling, making the drive drag along forlornly. When they finally reached the schoool, Ororo was more than ready to be rid of the claustrophobic confines of the car. 

_In my office please,_ Charles told her before she even made it out of the SUV. She nodded, though he couldn't see her, and hopped out of the front seat, turning to help Jean out as well. Jean was rather stoic since they'd left and now, she seemed particularly distant. She was most likely just tired. She had been through a series of amazingly traumatic events. Some rest would do her good.

"I suppose I should let Charles know I'm here," Jean said emotionlessly as she shut the door behind her, her eyes resting on Logan and Rogue without really seeing them. "Who wants to bear witness to the tongue-tied reunion?" she asked, almost sarcastically. Scott wrapped a protective arm around Jean's waist, and Ororo led the way to Xavier's office.

Not bothering to knock, the three walked in to meet Charles, who was waiting patiently. Upon Jean's entrance, he let out a little gasp, the truth of Jean's revival sinking in.

"What's the matter, Charles? Miss me?" Jean asked, freeing herself from Scott's arm to walk around Xavier's desk and give him a warm hug, which was returned in equal measure.

"I almost didn't believe…" he said softly. Jean smiled benevolently, taking his face between her warm hands.

"I didn't really expect you to," she consoled, speaking to him as she would to a child. "Any of you," she added, straightening up and including Scott and Ororo in her gaze. "Thank you for coming anyway, though I was a bit surprised that you weren't with Logan."

"That was – I'm afraid that was my fault," Xavier piped up, again drawing her attention. "I discouraged him from going and kept the knowledge of why he went to myself. I'm terribly sorry in hindsight, but, given his reasoning, I'm sure you understand," he confessed. For a moment, Jean stared at Charles with a cold look that still felt like it was scalding his skin. He literally felt the prickles of pain glide across his body, making a fine sheen of sweat break across his face. Then, the moment was over, Jean's fury and the invisible assault disappearing in a split second. Her rage was immediately replaced with neutral content.

"No matter," she said, sounding completely normal. "I'm home now."

"Yes," Charles said, lightly mopping his brow with one of the tissues on his desk. Ororo and Scott had apparently not noticed the miniature torture session taking place right before their eyes. "Why don't you go get some rest, Jean? You must be exhausted after your ordeal."

"I am rather tired," she replied, turning to Scott. "I think I will take a short nap. You coming?" Scott grinned.

"Right behind you," he said, following her out the door with a departing nod at Charles and Ororo. Ororo waited until the couple left before she stepped up to the desk.

"Why would you keep something like that from us?" she asked in a borderline accusatory voice. Her eyes were kind and beseeching though with an undeniable streak of metal in the glossy brown depths.

"Logan was behaving irrationally. He had no physical evidence to support his claims. I was trying to protect you from further heartache by acting logically," he explained calmly.

"We don't need to be protected any more," Ororo retorted. Charles smiled softly.

"Of course not. You never needed my protection," he told her. She melted, though she was already berating herself for falling for the self-pitying mentor trick. She sank to her knees beside his wheelchair, resting her hands on his business-slack clad knees.

"I needed you, professor. You were always there when I needed protecting. I was just more independent than the rest, that's all," she said, smiling up at him sweetly.

"But you can understand why I feel the need to shelter you, can't you?" he asked.

"Yes… but that doesn't excuse it," she said, letting him know that his old, useless leader act hadn't worked completely. He grinned like a child caught in the cookie jar as he picked up on her stray thought. "We're adults now. You trained us, and you did a good job of it. Give us some credit." He nodded his agreement, and she turned to leave. She was expecting another letter from a certain blue mutant.

* * *

"What do you mean you can't find her?" Magneto practically snarled at the teenager before him. Pyro shuffled his feet nervously, the tempo at which he flicked his lighter open and closed increasing. "She's supposed to be in her room. If she's elsewhere, it's because _you_ slacked on security. And stop that infernal fidgeting!" Instantly, the lighter flicked closed again and was deposited in a pocket of John's jacket. 

"Really, Mags, she's gone! Her room's empty – she packed and left! I never left my station, I swear! The power turned off for a minute or so, but Quicksilver said it was nothing!" John said, standing ramrod straight. Sometimes Magneto wished he'd left Pyro with Charles; he obviously wasn't fully trained yet.

"And did you check on her after the power came back on?" he asked the boy with disgust, already knowing the answer.

"You told me not to leave my post!" John exclaimed defensively. Suddenly, one of Magneto's metal bookends went flying from its stationary position on the shelf, aimed in the general direction of Pyro's head. Sometimes John wished he'd stayed at school; the X-geeks were just that – geeks, but at least they didn't outright abuse him.

"Now, Erik," Mystique lightly chided as she walked into the room, naked as ever. John's eyes were immediately glued to her sleek body as a hot flush rose on his cheeks. Mystique glanced at John with a confident, knowing smile. Ordinarily, she might indulge his fantasies, but she had more interesting things (and people) to do. "I got you those for your birthday," she continued petulantly, he lips curling into a pout. Magneto sighed.

"Of course," he said apologetically as the bookend returned to its original place, guided by some invisible force. "Tell me something, Pyro," he said, returning his sharp attention to John as Mystique wrapped her arms around Magneto's waist with a leering grin in John's direction. "What exactly did they teach you in that school?" John was bright enough to recognize a rhetorical question when it was thrown at him, even if most of his blood was headed away from his brain.

"I'll leave the two of you alone," he said, hoping he could slip away without losing any vital body parts.

"What, don't you want to watch?" Mystique asked, resting her head on Erik's shoulder and knowing what her question would do to the boy. John trapped her with a searing glare, looking half-disgusted and half-intrigued. It would certainly be a way to move up a few ranks in the hierarchy. Mystique, for a moment, started wondering if John had finally grown up enough to play with the big kids. But then, he turned away, letting out a hiss of air and walking quickly from the room. Mystique smiled, white teeth made brilliant against dark blue skin. Erik easily picked her up and sat her on his desk. "It's a shame – might've been fun," she said.

"You shouldn't toy with him like that," he told her, only barely caring.

"You get to boss him around, so I get to play mind games," she answered, her smile never fading. "Now, let's get on with it!"

"Do you have the papers?" he asked, ignoring her impatience.

"Of course," she replied cockily. With her dangling toes, she opened the lowest drawer in the desk, then grabbed a file with her hand. "Everything you wanted," she said, handing him the folder. Erik flipped through the papers expectantly, a smile growing on his face.

"And more…" he added as he studied a particular sheet. "Ms. Darkeholme, care to be my date?" A controlled, giddy smile was now in full bloom on his aged face.

"I suppose I could find something to wear," she said, feigning boredom as she morphed a stylish purple gown over her nudity. Erik looked at her appreciatively.

"I'll need one more favor from you."

* * *

Fuming, John stormed down the halls, practically radiating anger. He whirled through the building, only one destination in mind. He slammed open the door to Quicksilver's room, not caring what the little twerp was doing. Pietro was lounging on his bed, staring at the door expectantly. 

"_Your_ sister is gone," John said, blocking any escape that the speed demon may have made through the door.

"What of it?" Quicksilver asked defiantly, running his fingers through his white-blond hair.

"_You_ were the one who gave the all clear after the security failure," John said. "That's when she got out."

"Are you implying something, Johnnie-boy?" Pietro asked, springing off his bed and into Pyro's personal space faster than the eye can follow.

"I think you had something to do with it," John said bluntly. "Now, where is she?"

"How should I know?" Pietro asked, settling back onto his bed with an overconfident grin.

"She's _your_ sister," John said again.

"Quick of you to notice, we're only twins," Pietro quipped, his grin growing wicked.

"If she told anyone where she was going, it's you," John said. "You probably helped her out the door, and now _I'm_ getting the heat for it!"

"Now, you left school early, so maybe you're not as intelligent as you could be. I'll help you out by pointing out the obvious. Wanda and me? We don't get along so great. Why would she tell me anything?" Pietro sneered. John let the insults roll off him for now, storing the anger they caused for a more convenient time.

"You know more than you're letting on," he said instead, watching the arrogant prick's unchanging grin.

"Of course I do, dumbass," Pietro said, nearly laughing.

"And I'm going to prove it to Magneto. Show him that 'daddy's little boy' isn't such a gift," John threatened, ignoring Pietro's snide remark.

"I'll tell you what. As a show of… good faith – a peace treaty to show there's no hard feelings, I'll let you use my guys to fine her. Hell, I'll even help. See, one thing you have to learn about Dad: you correct the problems you cause, it's no harm, no foul. But you make him get involved, and you're screwed," Pietro explained.

"You'll help?" John asked, disbelieving that the offer was sincere.

"Absolutely!" Pietro said, basking in John's unbalance. "She _is_ my sister after all. Go get my guys and meet me in the garage. You don't mind if I take charge, do you? Credit's still all yours." John shook his head mutely, backing out in to the hallway. "Oh, and another thing. The friends of 'daddy's little boy' also get the good life. That means you should suck up to me," Pietro added, smirk returning.

* * *

Kitty leaned against the balcony railing outside of her third story dorm, which she shared with Rogue (and on weekends, Jubilee). It was a warm night but not terribly humid, and there was a faint breeze pulsing through the air, keeping the back of her neck cool and dry. On an ordinary night like this, most students with balcony rooms would be outside, enjoying the pleasant night like she was, but tonight was no ordinary night. The main X-men team had returned around dinner, bringing with them a previously dead, currently alive X-woman. That alone was enough to send most of the student body indoors to cluster in the halls and chatter like the teenagers they were. It was a very gossipy school. Then came the announcement that anyone who wanted to replace the grade from Dr. McCoy's uber-hard pop quiz would have to turn in a 3-page essay on what they'd learned this year and how it could better future mutant-human relations – due tomorrow. As if the rumor mill wasn't enough to empty the rec room. 

So the balconies were pretty much deserted. Except for Kitty, who, in her pale lavender nightgown, looked a bit more like a surreal ghost than and actual flesh and blood student. Kitty, nerd of century, wasn't doing an essay because she'd gotten a quiz pass from Ms. Munroe earlier in the year for acing a test. So, all that was left for her to do was stand out on the balcony, leaning against the rail and letting the breeze tangle her brown hair, intertwining it with the scents of blooming flowers from Ororo's nearby greenhouse. Stand… and think.

Usually, Kitty was a wonderful thinker. She hadn't gotten that quiz pass any other way. She was logical, focused, and intelligent. Usually. Now, it seemed as if someone had torn out that amazing, sensible brain of hers and replaced it with the brain of some damsel from a trashy romance novel. And it was all because of Bobby.

Bobby, her best friend.

Bobby, the boy who made her heart flutter.

Bobby, the one who'd treated her to Chinese food.

Bobby, the guy she'd kissed in the rec room after dinner while everyone else was rushing to write three pages of BS.

Bobby, Rogue's boyfriend.

That last though made her groan aloud and wonder just how much force it would take to bash her skull in on the railing she was leaning on. Lunch had been lovely. From the moment they'd borrowed a car to the moment they'd returned it, she was in bliss. They'd joked just as they always had, friendly banter that sometimes led to conversations that ran on for hours. They'd talked and played and did whatever it was that they did to make the time pass so quickly. That was all usual. What was unusual was the now her best friend had also become her kissing buddy. The kissing – was that what had made her lunch pass like a blur, what had made her float through her afternoon classes with dazed disinterest? She wanted more. It was one of the few things she was sure of now. She'd had a taste, and now she was addicted.

They'd started out chaste, gentle, almost shy. But by lunch's end, there were tongues and teeth and dueling moans and racing hearts and…

And he was still Rogue's boyfriend.

And that hurt. It hurt because she wanted him all to herself, she didn't want to hid, but most of all, she didn't want to hurt anyone. And the only way to accomplish the last was to keep the whole thing firmly under wraps, which neglected her first two wants.

Quite the dilemma.

If only her brain hadn't decided to take the week off.

"Kit-Kat? Can you edit this stupid thing for me?" Rogue asked, sticking her head through the sliding glass door that led to the balcony.

"Uh, sure," Kitty answered. _In return, can I have your boyfriend?_ a snotty little voice added in her mind. Kitty snorted bitterly, passing it off as a sneeze when Rogue gave her a questioning look. She walked back into the dorm, sitting in the squeaky computer chair.

Their room wasn't very furnished, but it was a rather small room anyway. Between their combined allowances, the girls had been able to buy enough to create a homey feeling. 2 bedspreads – pink for Kitty and green for Rogue, lavender curtains to cover the balcony's glass door, a microfridge for storing midnight snacks, a small stereo, a decent computer they'd found on E-bay, a tie-die bean bag chair (or three), a TV/DVD player, and a couple thousand books and CDs to stock the bookshelf. It hadn't been bought all at once; Xavier gave them an allowance, not a credit card. But, after months of saving, the girls had decorated the room the way they wanted, and, amazingly, they mostly agreed on everything they'd bought. Though, Kitty's old beanie babies did keep winding up in the bottom of the closet _somehow. _

"What do you think?" Rogue asked as Kitty skimmed over the paper on the computer screen.

"I think it's a load of BS. Ms. Munroe will love it," the other girl replied, leaning back in the chair. With a sigh, Kitty stretched her arms back, working out the tense muscles in her shoulders.

Then one of her hands blindly brushed Rogue's cheek. It happened sometime when they lived in such a small, cluttered room. That's the main reason why Kitty roomed with Rogue. It was bound to happen, accidental flesh touching flesh. Kitty was usually fast enough that nothing terrible happened, her own mutant power making her intangible as soon as the painful drain registered. Rogue would get an influx of foreign thoughts (sometimes enough that she wouldn't have to work out any of the problems on her math homework), and Kitty would become ever so slightly dazed, a condition that wore off within minutes. No lasting damage to either girl. This time was no different. Almost.

_So sore. needs a comma. want a new computer. Bobby! smells nice outside. Uh-oh-I'm-in-trouble. kissing. shouldn't have – Bobby. Rogue – hate me. rec room. wrong! need it._

And it was over.

Both girls gasped, pulling away sharply. Kitty started coughing uncontrollably; it felt like she couldn't breathe! After a few minutes, she regained control and slouched back into the chair breathlessly. Rogue's eyes were wide as she tried to sort through the thoughts and images she'd just pulled from her best friend. Kissing… someone in one of the mansion's cars. Someone was going to be mad because… why? Chinese food – that could be placed. Kitty and Bobby had Chinese food for lunch. Bobby! Rogue felt a million different things at once, ramming into her conscious mind like a punch in the gut.

_laughing, joking, talking, awkward, sweet, funny, warm, breathless, hot, kissing, worried, angry, lost, sad, curious, whispers, guilt, secrets, miss him, like him… love him?_

In that second, Rogue knew everything – or thought she did. Was that what an affair felt like? No, no. Kitty wouldn't –

_more._

She wouldn't do that!

_Bobby!_

Why? Rogue tried to think, suddenly so overwhelmed that she couldn't react. Couldn't scream, or cry, or argue, or… anything.

_love him?_

No! She couldn't, could she?

By now, Kitty was watching her with concern. It didn't usually take her this long to work through the memories. Dread started to build in Kitty's stomach. _Please, not that. I don't care if she got me puking on Peter's shoes at the fair – just not Bobby!_

"Rogue?" she asked carefully. "Are you okay?" Rogue gasped again, the last vestiges of shock leaving her face. She looked oddly… empty.

"Wow! Sorry about that!" Rogue said in her best "I-didn't-just-find-out-that-my-best-friend-wants-to-screw-my-boyfriend-everything's-just-chipper" voice. "Are you okay?

"Yeah, no worse than usual. Just a headache," Kitty replied, the icy chill of fear fading from her mind. With a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, Kitty rose from the chair with an unflattering creak that might've embarrassed her if there was anyone but Rogue in the room. She walked into the bathroom that they shared with the girls in the next room. Rogue remained frozen by her bed, watching Kitty's reflection pop open the medicine cabinet.

"Kitty?" she asked, her voice now a bit shaky. Should she confront her? Was she even sure of what she'd seen? Yes. She wasn't just sure, she was positive. There was no question in her mind that Kitty and Bobby were in the midst of... a fling? Something. But she didn't want to set off the bomb this way. She would wait until she had more solid evidence. So, she swallowed the harsh words that had nearly slipped passed her lips. She needed to think. And to go through the newly absorbed thoughts with a fine toothed comb, hunting for as many details as she could find. But now was not the time, she realized as Kitty tossed down a few aspirin. "Which sentence needs a comma?" she asked, saving her initial question of _Why are you after my boyfriend?_ for later. Kitty, completely oblivious to Rogue's train of though came back out of the bathroom, this time with a genuine grin.

"That one," she said, pointing at the monitor innocently before launching into a speech about why the comma went there and how it was a common mistake. Rogue smiled and nodded, internally berating herself for letting this "well-meaning mouse" (as her traitorous boyfriend had once called her) slip passed her defenses.

* * *

"Dr. McCoy!" Rogue called, following said person down the hall the next morning. She was about to head down for breakfast, and there he was, just walking through the school. The large, blue man stopped and looked back at her. "Um, thank you… for your concern, but I think you misunderstood the situation yesterday. Me and Logan were just playing around; he'd never hurt me!" Hank raised a thick, furry eyebrow. "Really," she assured. 

"Oh, dear," Hank said, his richly cultured voice again catching her by surprise. "I suppose in hindsight that seemed terribly forward of me. I – I hope he wasn't too offended! Gracious, Henry, not here a week and you're already making a fool of yourself," he berated himself.

"I'm sure he'll get over it," Rogue said with a smile. "Where are you from, Dr.?" she asked, curious as to what blend of backgrounds could make someone who seemed to contradict himself so much.

"Please, call me Hank, dear girl. Everyone else does. Well, they don't yet I suppose, but hopefully by the time I've conferred with all the residents here… My apologies. I started rambling and haven't even begun to answer your inquiry! Well, originally, I'm from northern California, however, I most recently resided in New Haven, Connecticut while I was working in a Yale laboratory."

"Wow, that's – really impressive!" Rogue replied.

"Not particularly," Hank said almost bitterly.

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously. Hank looked at her with surprise. Was it supposed to be that obvious?

"I wasn't born blue and bristly," he said simply.

"Oh," she answered, at a loss for words but still not understand his self-contempt.

"It's actually quite a recent development," he added, casting a sad look at his clawed hand.

"But - but that doesn't take away from the fact that you worked at _Yale!"_ she consoled.

"Maybe not," he conceded quietly. "However, it would have been much more impressive if I had been able to retain my past employment."

"What happened?" she asked, looking at him with a frown.

"The dean wasn't thrilled with… me after 6-21. I was fired," he informed her. 6-21 – that was the date of the mass attack on first mutants, then humans. To most, it was regarded as a global terrorist attack – the modern 9-11. The majority of people claimed that mutants were behind the whole thing, using it to fuel the mutant control debates. Oddly, it was never brought up at those debates that mutants were attacked too, _first_ even. She supposed, at a most basic level, those people were right. It was a mutant that caused the whole thing, but it was so much more complex than that! Though, if anyone found out for sure that it was a mutant behind the attack, there would be _no_ talk about complexities. The fact that the mutant who "caused" it was kidnapped and mentally manipulated would be overlooked. The knowledge that mutants helped clean up the damage and care for the wounded would be shoved aside. And the heartbreaking truth that a single, self-sacrificing mutant was the _only_ casualty that day (well, with the exception of William Stryker the Scumbag, who had quietly dropped off the radar) would be forgotten.

For this reason, the events of that day, 6-21, were kept secret. The sketchiest of details were released of course, to give people something to talk about. But the deeper, more important facts were shadily swept under the rug. Names, hows, whys – they never made it to the public. Only the president and a few select members in the White House knew those things. Well, those few elite and the entire student body of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Who'd have thought that so many teenagers would be able to keep their mouths shut about something so rumor-worthy?

"I'm sorry," Rogue replied after a minute. Hank's story was like those of so many other mutants. For whatever, 6-21 had changed them, making them more physically mutated. It was as though Charles had been trying to make mutants more obvious. In a way, it made sense. He was trying to "find" all the mutants, and the best way to find something was to make it stick out. Like highlighting a sentence in a book. Rogue had no doubt that was precisely what happened to Hank.

"I just wish I could understand it! There was no scientific cause for my transformation!" Hank responded with such frustrated vehemence that she jumped. He sighed tiredly before giving her a doleful smile. "I apologize… oh, dear. I never even asked your name!" he said sheepishly.

"Rogue," she prompted, extending her gloved hand heartily.

"Rogue," he repeated, not commenting on (but taking note of) the rarity of such a name. Teens were eclectic after all. "It's been a pleasure talking with you. And I didn't mean to snap like that. I must keep in mind that my new stature amplifies my intimidation factor exponentially." He continued speaking, but Rogue was only vaguely aware of it. She was more concerned with the voice in her head.

_All active X-men to the debriefing room immediately._

"Uh, Dr. McCoy? Hank?" she corrected herself as he raised a finger to do so himself. "It's been fun, but, uh, I gotta go," she finished lamely. Hank looked at her with slight surprise.

"Of course. Have a good afternoon, Rogue. Feel free to pay me a visit some time, eh?" he suggested with a friendly wink. She smiled distractedly, already turning to leave.

* * *

Another ending of another chapter. Why do I always feel the need to talk here? I don't know, but I have a chance for you guys to actually get involved in the story! Well, sorta. I need to know if you would like me to write in Remy's (er, I mean... someone else... oh, forget it!) accent when I introduce him. I have 2 versions of his dialogue sitting on my hard drive. One is written in fairly normal English. The other is crazy, phonetically spelled, mumbo jumbo which is probably closer to what he would sound like if he were real. Which would you prefer? But wait! How could you possibly let me know? If only there was some sort of button you could push that would let you send me a message or perhaps... a "review!" I know, we can call it a "Review Button!" Genius! I must take out a patent!


	10. Chapter 10

Yay! More fic! Hopefully I'll get one more installment up before I have to go to school, and then... I'll post whenever I can. Just keep checking back, and I'll try not to disappoint. I have to say, those reviews are _veeeerrrrrry_ encouraging when I hit writer's block.

* * *

"What have I missed?" Jean asked Scott when she woke up from her nap. It was strange for Scott to have someone in his bed again; it was wonderful. Warmly, he wrapped his arms around her and settled his head on her shoulder. 

"Mmm… well, we knocked down and rebuilt the mansion. We've been trying to prevent a recreation of Nazi Germany in America. And we got a new doctor," he informed her, letting his eyes slip closed as he waited for her response.

"I was actually talking about time wise. Since I fell asleep," she said, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "But all that's good to know, too. Is Charles having problems keeping up with the political side of things? How are the classes going?" Jean asked, struggling to catch up with three months of lost life.

"Oh, well, you slept through the night," he said, not bothering to move his head. "Charles… He's managing, but it's hard. He has to deal with Magneto, who's been unsettlingly quiet, and even with the president's backing, people are scared. They're demanding that the government do _something_, but no one can figure out what _to_ do because mutants are American citizens too. Which means that the laws about segregation apply to us too. They can't separate the schools because it's unconstitutional, but they can't leave mutants in the schools because it's dangerous to everyone. With so many teens coming into their powers, accidents happen. Back when we were teens, Charles could cover up our accidents easily, but now… there are too many of them. It's getting to the point where we can't take them all. Senator Ryan's daughter turned out to be a mutant – a pyrokinetic. He disowned her, and now people are drawing sides over that too. Everyone's involved in one way or another," Scott said, trying to explain all that had happened in a nutshell.

"I should get back out there," Jean said.

"No, not yet!" Scott said quickly, tightening his grip on her. "You need to take care of yourself first. I'm not letting you go anywhere until I'm sure you're okay." Out of Scott's line of sight, Jean's eyes flared as she recognized a new threat.

"And how do you expect to hold me, Scott?" she asked cautiously.

"Well, I could tie you up," he joked, not sensing the shift in her mood. Jean tensed, a strong part of her wanting to throw this man through a wall as she had the last one.

"You think that would work?" she accused, almost insulted that he could possibly think anything he had could contain her. She was power. Scott frowned, surprised at the sudden bitterness in her voice. He leaned over her gently to get a better look at her face.

"It was a joke," he said lightly. Jean blinked quickly, looking deep into the quartz glasses.

"Of course. I know that," she said, dark creases on her face being replaced by the warm smile he fell in love with. He looked at her oddly for a moment before giving her an uneasy smile, thrown off balance by her shifting mood. She traced his jaw line with her velvet soft fingers, relishing in the short stubble that was just starting to prickle out and led him down of a reassuring kiss. When she released him, she smiled coyly, vibrant green eyes blazing up at him. "Something's different about you, Scott," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "What is it?" Scott looked away sheepishly.

"Block us?" he asked, fingering one of her silky red tresses. With an intrigued nod, Jean delicately blanketed the room with a telepathic web, protecting them from prying minds but allowing contact to be maintained. "It's really – it's amazing," he said in preamble. "It means we can get out of here, stop fighting, and live a normal life.""Okay, but what is _it_?" she asked with exasperation. Scott's smile faded as he took a deep breath, trying to calm his suddenly wild nerves. He turned away from her, mentally feeling for the pulsing heat he'd come to associate with his power. It was gone. Still, he faced the wall when he removed his glasses and slowly opened his eyes. Again, color flooded his mind, giving him a rush of happiness.

"Ready?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yes!" she exclaimed with a smile, craning her neck in an attempt to see what he was doing. Tired of waiting, she grabbed at his side, trying to roll him over with a laugh. Taking another deep breath, Scott gave into her tugging and rolled to face her, revealing his exposed eyes. Usually deadly, Scott's eyes were now perfectly harmless. Jean's laughter died quickly, replaced by slack-jawed awe. "Wow," she managed after a breathless moment. Of their accord, her hands slipped up to caress his uncovered face in wonder. Then, she brought one hand up to his face with awe. Gently, she ran her fingers over his thick, but not overbearing eyebrows, his long, dark lashes, the softly fluttering lids that revealed brief glimpses of honey brown eyes. Scott covered her hand, which had come to rest along his jaw, with his own. Jean managed to draw herself out of the stupor to ask, "but how?"

"I met someone – a scientist. She's been working on the technology for years, and she finally got it right. It's not permanent though. Do you like it?" he asked, not knowing what he wanted her to say. Jean regarded him steadily, seemingly processing the information. Idly, she stroked his forehead, smoothing the hair that had fallen there, sloppy and wild, in the night.

"I-" she began.

_All active X-men to the debriefing room immediately,_ Xavier's telepathy boomed through the school with a tinge of urgency. She sprang from the bed, a smile spreading across her face.

"A mission!" she said with excitement. "Let's go!" she bubbled, dragging him from the bed by his hand. Quickly, he grabbed his visor from the dresser and slipped it on before being led from the room by a very giddy Jean.

"Wait, wait, hold on!" he said, catching her infectious smile and twirling her into his arms. "Our secret, right?" he asked, eyes boring a hole to her soul through the ruby quartz shield.

"Of course," she answered, dropping a chaste kiss to his lips before continuing down the hall, happy as she was before her first mission. They arrived at the debriefing room in record time, sliding into their seats just moments after Logan. He eyed them warily, mistrust obviously written on his face. He could still smell those tumultuous moods just below surface. It wasn't natural. At the same time, Scott went on red-alert against Logan, still not knowing for sure what had happened in that motel room the day before. Before words could be exchanged, Peter and Charles walked in, followed closely by Ororo, Rogue, Kitty, and Bobby.

"Greetings," Charles said as he settled himself at the head of the table. "Another mutant-human riot has broken out, this time in Arizona. The coordinates are already programmed into the X-jest. I'm unaware of the extent of the damage, but Cerebro has picked up on several new mutant signatures in the area. This leads me to believe that the riot was caused by the manifestations. Please break up the crowd, and offer our services to the new mutants. Any questions?" he said, debriefing them as he always did. The team members shook their heads. "Excellent. Jean, I'd like you to sit this one out; the situation isn't conducive to you." Jean, frowned, eyes flaring with anger.

"I want to go," she said simply, looking at Charles defiantly.

"You're not needed on this particular mission, and, considering your recent ordeal, I think it's best if you stay on campus," Xavier reasoned. _Ordeal?_ Scott thought, suppressing a bitter chuckle.

"And _I_ think my powers will be beneficial," she shot back quickly.

"Jean, at this point in your rehabilitation, it will be detrimental for you to do any uncontrolled fighting. You would be a liability to yourself and to the team. I'm sorry. Perhaps in a few weeks…

"No! I'm going!" Jean said, rising from her chair and storming toward the locker room. The rest of the team stared after Jean, most of them with shock written clearly on their faces. Scott sighed and leaned back in his seat with resignation.

"Go change," he said wearily, dismissing the team. They filtered out slowly, the girls particularly reluctant to run into Jean in the locker room after such an uncharacteristic outburst. Logan tossed Scott a pointed look as he passed on his way out. "I'll take care of her," Scott told Charles as he stood to follow Logan.

"She's not herself," Charles said plainly. "It's dangerous to take her if she's unstable, which she may be."

"I'll keep her on the jet. Don't worry; I can handle this," he assured his mentor.

"It's not you I worry about, Scott," Charles answered confidently. Scott smiled for a moment before wordlessly walking out to the men's locker room. It was mostly deserted, save for Peter, who was trying to find a pair of gloves that fit him in both his metalled and flesh skins. Scott changed quickly, pulling on his well-worn uniform that fit just right. Lightweight and pretty much everything-proof, the leather-like material didn't hinder his movement at all; or at least, it didn't after you broke it in. Scott, having gone on nearly every mission over the last fifteen years, had a _very_ comfortable uniform. He remembered trying to convince the professor to go public with the X-men just so he could wear his uniform all the time without blowing their cover. Grinning at the memory from his youth, Scott walked from the room, nearly crashing into Bobby on his way out.

"Sorry, sir!" Bobby said, backing up quickly. Kitty caught him before he could back onto her toes in his stiff, new uniform. Both of the Jr. X-men were uniformed in their own matching X-gear, the piping on the uniforms being the only difference. Different but the same.

"It's fine," Scott said with a smile. Still, Kitty and Bobby made no move to get out of the way. "Is there something else?" he asked after a moment. The teens exchanged a meaningful look, talking without words. Finally, Kitty elbowed Bobby in the ribs, ending the silent conversation.

"Uh, Kitty… and I just wanted to know where you were that day when you weren't here. Uh, if you don't mind telling us that is…" Bobby said, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"The day I went to pick up Jean?" he asked.

"No, before that. Were you on a mission?" Bobby pressed. Behind his visor, Scott's eyes widened. They _knew_. No, they thought something was up; they didn't _know_ anything, he told himself, for once glad that his eyes were hidden.

"Yeah, the professor had me doing some things for him," he told the duo lamely. It must not have sounded unbelievable to their ears because Kitty smiled sweetly.

"Okay, just curious. Thanks, Mr. Summers," she said, grabbing Bobby's wrist and leading him toward the hangar. When they were out of ear shot, Kitty leaned close to Bobby and whispered, "there was no mission report, remember? No report means no mission. He just outright _lied_ to us!"

"He didn't lie; he just hasn't gotten around to filing the report with all that's been going on," Bobby defended in an equally soft tone as they walked up the ramp onto the newly repaired Blackbird.

"It's been nearly a week! He's not going to file one because there's nothing to file!" Kitty continued, dropping into one of the seats and reaching for the buckle.

"Scott's our leader, Kit-Kat. He's not going to lie to us. Just trust him and relax!" Bobby said, securing his own seatbelt. "Besides, what would he be doing to skip school unless he was on a mission? I mean, he's not exactly a live wire."

"Maybe he's seeing someone!" Kitty blurted suddenly. Bobby looked at her like she was crazy.

"That's insane!" he said to reiterate his point. "Professor Summers would never cheat on Ms. Grey!"

"It wouldn't have been cheating – we thought she was dead! It was just a lonely, widowed man trying to move on with his life. But now that she's back, he's trying to hide it because he wasn't ready to come out with it in the first place and now there's no need to!" she explained as though it made perfect sense to anyone with a brain. Bobby took about half a second to think through the scenario before discarding it.

"You've been reading too many romance novels. No way he'd miss school to go on a date with some mysterious new lover!" he decided.

"Whatcha talking 'bout?" Rogue asked, sitting down across from her friends and fastening her seatbelt. The pair exchanged a look, simultaneously deciding that their doubts should be kept between them.

"Nothing," Bobby said. Rogue frowned. She'd seen the in-depth and intensely private conversation that had been going on just seconds before. She's also seen the way Kitty had led _her_ boyfriend onto the jet. Forcing the jealous thoughts back into the corner of her mind to grow and stagnate on their own, Rogue tuned into the rest of Bobby's statement. "Just waiting to take off."

"Are you sure you should be flying?" Scott asked, after stepping onto the jet and surveying the team. Peter was settling himself in beside Logan (God only knew why he preferred the Canadian to people his own age). The other Jr. X-men where quietly chatting in their seats. Ororo and Jean had settled in the cockpit. Both women looked up at his entrance.

"I'm fine, Scott," Jean said dismissively. "Unless the jet has changed its basic flying patterns, I'm still capable of co-piloting."

"Alright," Scott relented after a moment, seeing Jean's defensive posture. Still, he settled into the seat immediately behind her, just in case there was trouble. Peter watched the exchange with interest from his seat beside Logan in the back of the jet.

"Strange, isn't it?" he said softly, turning to the man next to him.

"What's that, Pete?" Logan asked boredly.

"Dr. Grey. She doesn't seem herself since she's returned," he explained. Logan glanced up at Peter, slightly surprised that the boy had noticed.

"I've noticed it, too," was all Logan said in response. He wasn't one for gossip. The two men settled back in their seats quietly for the flight.

* * *

"Wow," Amara said breathlessly, taking in the glistening, snow-covered mountain ahead of her. "That's really… wow." Beside her, Chase smiled. It was his step-sister's first missionary trip, and she was loving every second of it. Personally, the glare that reflected off the snowy ground was killing his eyes, but then, he'd been on so many trips that scenery barely registered any more, no matter how beautiful. "Isn't it gorgeous?" she asked, finally turning to look at him. 

Her blue eyes sparkled at him merrily, excitement leaking from her. Her rosy cheeks lit up her face, which was framed by a mass of blond hair. Her hair and the fur-lined hood that covered most of it was flecked with tiny snow flakes which were still softly fluttering to earth after the previous night's snowstorm. She was pretty enough, though still quite lanky for her age, making her parka loose where on most other girls it would be snug. Of course, the coat was at least a size too big for her anyway, its flaming red material hanging to her knees. Matching red goggles hung from her neck instead of protecting her eyes from the glare, which could so easily cause snow blindness.

"You wanna go up?" Chase asked, gesturing to the tall mountain that loomed in the distance.

"Can we?!" she asked hopefully, trying to imagine herself climbing a real live mountain.

"Sure, I'll just tell Dad first," he replied, pulling his phone out of his parka pocket. Amara couldn't picture Chase climbing a mountain. He was much too… Chase. He looked perfectly comfortable in his navy blue parka, but then, Chase had the infuriating habit of looking comfortable anywhere. He had a fairly stocky build, muscular but not overly so. Brown hair covered his head, short enough to stay out of his face. An almost undetectable sprinkling of stubble covered his jaw line, which was nearly olive in complexion. His face wasn't as rosy as hers, partly due to skin tone and partly because he was used to being in extreme environments. His father, Jon Thurmond, had become a missionary when Chase was around 5, so both men had plenty of experience in 3rd world countries by now, over a decade later. The boys had wound up in Brazil about 6 years ago, where Jon had met her mother, Selene, who was a struggling anaconda researcher. The two had fallen in love and married by the next year, making Chase and Amara siblings. The kids had hit it off well, both having excellent people skills and being around the same age. There was one key difference between the two teenagers though.

Chase was a suspected mutant.

No one ever brought it up, and never was the m-word once mentioned in their house, but it was true. Everyone in the family had their suspicions, though even Chase himself wasn't positive. Whenever Chase was around electricity, strange things happened. Nothing definitive, but enough to plant that seed of suspicion – enough to make you think twice when the power went out.

Of course, the suspicious events were few and far between; they didn't usually have great access to electricity in the Australian bush or tribal African villages. So Chase slid by, just a normal kid. Though, the families of _normal_ kids didn't hesitate when that sneaky m-word was brought up.

"He says it's cool," Chase said, breaking her train of thought. "But we have to be back before dark."

"Wicked!" she exclaimed, jumping onto her snowmobile. "Let's go, slowpoke," she urged, looking back at him expectantly as he loaded a heavy-looking bag onto the tail of his own ride. He grinned, deciding to indulge her reckless spirit today. It was her first time out of Brazil after all - probably her first time seeing snow, too.

"Race ya," he said briefly before revving his engine and taking off toward the mountain, spraying Amara with a cold, wet burst of slushy snow.

* * *

The riot in Arizona was chaos. The small, desert-bound town had been turned upside down, though the reason wasn't obvious when they landed the cloaked jet a few blocks away from the main commotion. Quickly, Scott made assignments. Wolverine, Rogue, and Colossus in one group, Shadowcat, Iceman, and Cyclops in another. Storm canvassing the skies, controlling any fires and keeping overhead surveillance. Jean was stuck in the jet, keeping tabs on each member of the team and trying to locate the leaders of the riot. Then, the fully-uniformed team (save Jean) exited into the sandy suburb. Scott took one last look at the people gathered around him; friends, students, and colleagues stood before him, just waiting for him to send them in to face possible death. No one could say being the field leader was a stress-free job. 

"Alright, just like any training session, guys," he said, speaking more to the junior team than to Ororo or Jean. "We go in, neutralize the threat, find the mutants, and clean up as much as we can. Keep in touch by comlink or telepathy. Jean?"

_Ready to go,_ she answered telepathically, everyone hearing her in their minds.

"Storm? Tell me what I'm getting us into here," he ordered. With a nod, Storm raised her face to the sky, eyes clouding over as she called wind to lift her into the air. She rose, and after a few minutes, Scott's comlink blinked dark blue, silently signaling that she was trying to talk to him. He pushed a button beside the comlink on his cuff, allowing her voice to filter through.

"It looks like the whole town is here, about a few blocks west of the jet. It doesn't seem terribly serious yet; they're mostly just yelling and waving guns around. But there's a lost of damage. I'm trying to put out the worst of the fires now. I -"

Her voice suddenly disappeared. Looking up at the sky, Scott saw that the storm clouds, which had been forming to douse the fires, were drifting away and returning to a more neutral white.

"Storm? Storm, what's going on? Are you hurt?" Scott looked at the other around him.

_Scott, what just happened? I lost Ororo, _Jean asked telepathically, for Scott's mind only.

_Stay in the jet,_ was the only answer he gave her, also via telepathy.

"The situation has just been upgraded," he told the rest of the team. "We know they have guns, so consider everyone you meet armed and dangerous. Go in, find the mutants, get Storm, and report back here ASAP. If you can take out the leader, go ahead, but not if you have to put yourself at risk. Forget cleaning up; they made the mess, they can deal with it. Clear?" Again the team nodded, though the juniors were considerably more nervous. "Good. Logan, take your group west and _sneak_," he emphasized the word," around behind the crowd. My team will go east and come in from the front. That's probably where the mutants are. The group that finds Storm first will send her back to the jet with a junior member. Other than that, stick together and, above all, be careful. Okay, comlink check." After one last check of their gear, the two groups split up, going their separate ways to find their fallen teammate and quell the rising riot.

_

* * *

_Chase wondered, casting a worried look into the darkening sky. Surely, it hadn't been as long as the gray-blue color suggested. They hadn't even made it halfway up! Again, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. There was no chance he still had service, but it would still tell him what time it was. With a quick glance, he reassured himself that he hadn't lost track of time. They'd only been traveling for a little over an hour. In that case, the only cause for a suddenly dark sky was… another snow storm. From the look of the clouds, which had been hovering for several days now, it was going to be a bad one – worse than yesterday's. And that storm had been pretty strong itself, blanketing the mountain and the villages below with a loosely packed covering of snow. In the wake of another such storm, he and Amara needed to get back to camp. 

Realizing that the roar of Amara's snow mobile had faded into a soft hum, barely audible over his own machine. She must not have noticed that he had stopped behind her. Not a problem. She couldn't have gone very far, and she had left tracks in the fresh, pliant snow. Urging the snow mobile he was riding onward, he followed her tracks intently, not noticing when he followed them right off the most concealed mountain path. He rode silently for a few minutes, ignoring the thickening foliage on either side of him.

"Amara!" he shouted when he though he was close enough to be heard over her engine. He waited, slowing his own until it was just a dull purr between his legs. He thought if he strained his ears ever so slightly, he could pick out a change in pitch of Amara's unseen vehicle, a sure sign that she had idled her motor. He called her again, hoping she would hear him. After a few more calls, she answered. A short game of Marco-Polo ensued as he wandered closer and closer until he found her in a clearing. _A clearing? Everything should be clear,_ he thought, finally registering the abundance of untamed plant life on all sides. _Damn!_ he swore mentally as he pieced together what must've happened.

"Chase, I think I'm stuck!" Amara said, revving her engine. The machine beneath her sputtered, spitting up a few globs of snow mixed with shredded twigs, but it remained mostly still. Chase sighed, killing his engine and dismounting. Dad was going to kill him if they broke a motor on one of the mobiles loaned to him by the church organization that sent them around the world.

"Don't do anything," he ordered, kneeling by the front of her snow mobile. Obediently, she sat back, content to watch him fix whatever had happened. With a warning glance at her, he reached his gloved hand behind the front wheel, feeling for whatever she was caught on. There was a bunch of various chunks and pieces of grass, twigs, and leaves, and his first thought was, _what'd she do to it?? _He pulled out a few handfuls of what basically amounted to mulch now. _Of course, riding through the underbrush, _he thought. His probably looked the same way. Then he removed his hand back to the safety of the open air.

"Is that it?" she asked, having watched the whole procedure carefully.

"I hope so," he answered. "Try it now." She did, but the snow mobile just jerked and whined, throwing up more dirty snow. With a sigh, he repeated himself, removing at least five more handfuls of shredded gunk. Again, she tried to move, and again, the machine coughed until it finally choked. Chase rose to his feet with a huff, somehow just _knowing_ that the vehicle was done. Such was his luck. It was okay. Dad would be pissed, but Amara could ride down with him and they could come back for the damaged snow mobile later. Either way, that sky was growing more and more cloudy and dark.

"That didn't sound good," Amara said, looking at her step-brother with worry.

"No," he confirmed. "But there's nothing we can do about it now. We've gotta get home; I think it's going to snow again." For the first time that day, Amara stared straight up into the sky, regarding the dark clouds with detached interest.

"Now?" she asked, still wanting desperately to get to the top of the mountain.

"Yes, now," he said shortly. Didn't she realize how dangerous mountain passes became during a storm? "We can come back later." Amara sighed but climbed off her disabled snowmobile. "And what were you thinking – going off the trail like that?" he continued with a frown. Amara looked at him, blue eyes stark against pale white skin.

"I didn't know I did," she said, looking anywhere but at him. Chase muffled another impatient sigh, turning his back so she could compose herself and he could examine the tracks they'd made on their way into the clearing. They would have to follow those tracks back through the undergrowth and hope they came along the path before the snow started to fall. He mounted his snowmobile, patiently waiting for her to climb on behind him. He started up the machine, which growled like a rabid animal beneath them. Despite the energetic engine, Chase went slowly through the snow, backtracking along their still-fresh tracks, which were still deep in the snow. _Hansel and Gretel,_ Chase thought sardonically. Though hopefully, there wouldn't be any crows to eat the breadcrumbs in this story.

They rode silently for several minutes until the foliage cleared, leaving them exposed to the bone-chilling gusts of wind that broke around the mountain. Chase huddled his faced deeper into his parka, hoping to find the path soon. The storm was close, and it was a nasty one. After another few minutes of pathless riding, Chase idled the snowmobile. The tracks he'd been following had nearly disappeared now – faint, if they were there at all. Ignoring the questioning look Amara was giving him, he pulled out a portable GPS from another pocket in his coat. He flicked on the system, the quiet beeping it made soothing him. He waited as the little machine contacted an unseen satellite miles above his head.

"Is everything okay?" Amara asked over the wind, which was still barrelling against them wildly. He looked at her over his shoulder and suddenly wanted to hit her. This was her fault anyway.

"No, Amara, everything, is _not_ okay! We're lost, and the sky is going to fall down around us any minute now," he barked. And now he had a headache. Great. He turned back to the GPS, which was just finishing locating them, rubbing his throbbing temples. He hated these headaches; he'd been getting them more frequently as of late. It felt like someone had zapped him with a downed power line, and the extra energy was left to rocket around his skull, giving him a killer migraine.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light, and with a _clap!_ the GPS system was thrown several yards out of Chase's hands to land in the snow where it hissed and sizzled loudly. Amara noticed, with horrified eyes, that the sleeve of his jacket was on fire. It had obviously caught when the spark went off, but what had caused the spark? It didn't matter, she realized, and she shoved Chase, who hadn't yet seen the flame, probably because it hadn't burnt through his jacket yet, into the snow. He let out a startled gasp before seeing the fire, now mostly out, burning steadily up his arm. For a moment, time stretched immeasurably as he plunged his arm shoulder-deep into the loose snow, safely finishing off the fire.

"Are you okay?!" Amara asked, voice only a hair's breadth from outright terror. Mutely, he nodded, trying to calm her while his own heart was still racing.

"Yeah," he choked out in a strained voice after a minute. "It didn't get through the insulation." Holding up his arm as proof, he saw that the majority of his sleeve was ragged and charred a crisp black. His face paled noticeably as he realized just how close he'd been to needing a skin graft. _Burning to death surrounded by ice,_ he thought a bit hysterically. "Thanks," he said, slowly rising to his feet. His eyes landed on the still crackling GPS system. Amara followed his gaze.

"Must've had a short," she suggested, though she couldn't believe it herself.

"Yeah," he agreed unconvincingly. Silently, he raised his hand to his face. The glove was black all over, but there was a small hole over the pad of each of his fingers, exposing perfectly unburned flesh to the biting cold. Some part of him knew what that meant, but he refused to believe it. Amara, too, spotted the strangely singed glove and let out a little gasp of surprise, her mouth falling open slightly. Abruptly, Chase tore his gloves off, first one, then the other, and chucked them into the snow by the GPS. Barely meeting Amara's stunned stare, he answered her unasked question with a cold voice. "Still hot."

"Of course," she answered mildly, not believing it for a second. Wordlessly, he climbed back onto the snowmobile, so shaken that he didn't even wipe the snow off his clothes. Her hands instantly drifted to his shoulders, brushing him off with quick strokes. He didn't seem to notice, his bare hands gripping the snowmobile's handles with desperation. She didn't have to see his face to know that he was in deep thought.

Chase realized that the smart thing to do would be to retrieve the abandoned GPS system and stash it in his bag until they got back to camp. His father would want that. Then he could send the broken gadget to the manufacturer, so he could get some sort of refund or replacement or something. But Chase couldn't bring himself to pick it up out of the snow. He knew that the manufacturer would look at the wires inside the GPS, and somehow he knew they wouldn't find a short or any other problem with it. The company would tell his father, and then he would _know._

Would it be that big of a deal?

Chase didn't know, but he preferred not to find out. He hesitantly cranked the snow mobile, praying that he hadn't blown that too. Luckily, it revved as it always had.

What about Amara? Would she tell?

Furtively, he glanced over his shoulder at her, accidentally brushing his cheek to her hand, which had stilled on his shoulder. She pulled back with a yelp, like she'd been burned… or shocked. She shook her hand a few times but gave him a supportive smile.

No, he could trust her.

"I think it's this way," he finally said, adjusting their direction and heading off.

* * *

Anxiously, Hank knocked on the thick paneled door that led to Professor Xavier's office. Hank needed answers. However, he realized, as his large, blue fist rapped politely several more times, that Xavier might not be inside. Hank lowered his hand, turning from the door with a feeling akin to relief. He needed answers alright, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to asking the questions of his new, generous employer. Room, board, _and _a hefty paycheck, but Hank would have to walk away from it all if his work couldn't be done in good conscience. 

"Dr. McCoy, is there something I can do for you?" Charles asked amicably, taking Hank by complete surprise. Xavier was dressed in his usual business attire, but for some reason, he seemed much older. His face was pulled taut with something that looked like worry, his mouth a tense little line framed with wrinkles, which seemed more apparent on his aged-overnight face. He most certainly looked tired, Hank noted. Then again, Hank hardly knew the man well enough to be the judge of that.

"Uh, yes, sir. I was actually hoping we could confer in private, if you have no objections," Hank said, gesturing to the closed door behind him. Charles, fresh from the mission debriefing, was in no mood to talk with anyone at the moment. His mind was elsewhere – to put it lightly. Jean's outburst of fiery mule-headedness was very unlike her. It made him wonder just how… stable she was in the head. Ordinarily, or, more aptly put, before 6-21 – Jean was always very reserved. She trusted him to make decisions, _invariably _put the team before her own desires, and when she had a problem (which was rare in itself), she took it up in private. That was not the Jean he had witnessed moments ago or the night before in his office. He still hadn't heard the whole story on how she had survived or what traumas she might've endured in order to do so. It was quite possible, though a bit unlikely, that something had happened to her to completely change her thought process. Of course, the unlikely seemed to be blurring with the mundanely normal as of late. Remembering suddenly that he was mid-conversation with Hank, Charles made a mental note to call Moira later and tucked away his tormented thoughts.

"I'm sure anything you need to say can be said out in the open," he said, not really wanting to go into his office. Since Jean's arrival the night before and her frightening, invisible attack on him – he just got a strange feeling from that room. Hank looked at him doubtfully.

"Well, professor, there have been a few… inconsistencies around the school, which have aroused some rather interesting questions. They may be nothing, but…" Hank cautioned.

"What inconsistencies would those be?" Charles asked, keeping his voice open and friendly even as his mind went on red-alert. Hank dropped his eyes to the floor for a moment, trying to decide how best to broach the subject. He'd had a whole script set up in his mind, but now that the moment was actually here, everything he'd prepared seemed very unrealistic. More like he was a gungho hero in an action movie than a scientist who could very likely wind up back on the streets after losing his job. His shiny, new, plush, job.

"Professor, what are the X-men?" Hank asked, deciding on the direct approach. Xavier's eyebrows lifted momentarily in surprise before he regained his composure and nodded at the door to his office. Obligingly, Hank opened the door and let himself in, shutting it again after Charles also passed through. Silently, he wheeled around behind his desk, resting his hands against the wood for a moment as Hank took in the office, again overwhelmed by its… aura. _Face it, Henry,_ Hank thought to himself, _you're attracted to the pretty bobbles._ He eyed one of the larger paintings, discreetly trying to figure out if it was a print or an original.

"You've caught on much more quickly than I thought," Charles began. "Why don't you tell me what you know first. Then I'll be happy to answer any questions you have."

"With all due respect, I'd prefer to just ask my questions," Hank responded promptly. He'd worked in shady operation before. "Tell me what you know" was code for "tell me how much bullshit I can feed you without you realizing it."

"Very well," Charles responded with a slight sigh. "If that makes you more comfortable, fire away." Hank nodded, fighting the urge to pace.

"Well, you could start by answering my original question, sir. What _are_ the X-men?" he repeated solemnly.

"My team of mutant superhero do-gooders," Charles answered just as seriously. Hank's face darkened, making his beastly face truly horrifying.

"I did not come here to be mocked," he said gruffly.

"And I have no intention of mocking you," Xavier answered calmly. "Next question, please." Hank looked at him guardedly for a moment. Best just to change topics altogether for now, he decided.

"How can you run a school with so few teachers?" he asked. "So far, I've counted only 3, yourself included. That isn't even enough to cover the basic cores: math, english, history, and science. That's four." Charles smiled as if Hank had told a mildly amusing joke. The humor was lost on Hank.

"It does require quite a bit of shuffling when it comes to class times and student schedules, but we've managed so far," he answered. "You may not have gotten everything sorted out, but Scott teaches maths and literatures, Ororo handles basic sciences and compositions – as well as heading the creative arts, I teach advanced science, foreign language, and any personalized courses the students need. We all switch off when it comes to history. A bit like pinch-hitting. This semester, Ororo has World History, Scott has US History and I have a combined Government and Economics class."

"And what of electives?" Hank fired back.

"Ororo's creative arts – music, painting, and sculpting, my foreign languages – Spanish and French, and Logan's physicals – general PE, self-defense, track, and I've been trying to talk him into baseball. And if the students find themselves behind in electives for whatever reason, we have several relaxed, 'fun classes' during winter break – dancing, hockey, cooking, that sort of thing."

"Extracurriculars?" Hank questioned.

"Several of our classes have clubs, for example, there's a music club, a spanish club, a science club, and a pottery club. We have sports, though they aren't on a solid schedule. The students also make their own leagues: the Iron Chef League, the Movie Watcher's League, the Bowling League. All leagues have to be approved by the student council and at least one teacher here – just to prevent the Keg Party League or something equally distasteful," Charles explained with an open smile. "Please, sit down." Hank suddenly realized he was, in fact, pacing. Sheepishly, he slid his large bulk into one of the leather chairs.

"That's all well and good, professor, but how can you manage such a rigorous scheduling with all of the days you abruptly take off?" Hank asked, shifting in the expensive chair that was much too small for his frame.

"What do you mean?" Charles returned innocently.

"It's happened twice during my short stay, sir. Both of your other teachers have canceled their classes and taken off for parts unknown without warning. And where do they go – both of them at the same time?" Hank continued, expanding his question.

"Why, they're out saving the world usually," Charles said good-naturedly. Hank's frown returned.

"I don't take kindly to such jokes, professor, and I doubt the Board of Education would either," he said, voice bordering on threatening.

Completely unruffled, Xavier said, "Relax, Dr. McCoy. The entire operation is not only government approved but also government funded for the most part. To answer your question, the school is an all year academy. That doesn't necessarily mean that we have classes year round, but it does give us nearly two extra months for any make-up days we need." Hank resettled himself in the decidedly uncomfortable chair, forcing himself to calm down.

"Now in all seriousness, where do the teachers go?" he asked. Charles smiled.

"In all seriousness, to save the world," he answered. Before Hank could argue, Xavier continued. "I think it's time to return to your very first question. It's not an easy question to answer. They _are_ superheroes, but they're so much more than that. They're teachers, students, doctors, scientists… They're peacekeepers. They're freedom fighters. They're spies; they're diplomats. They're soldiers. But, more than anything else, they're normal people. They're not robots; they have morals, and free will, and personal lives, which sometimes interfere with the team. Really, they're just a group of people working toward a common goal – peaceful coexistence of mutants and humans." Hanks sat quietly in his too small chair for a minute, thinking carefully about that Charles had told him. It couldn't be true, could it? Though, it did match the bits and pieces of evidence he'd found. He'd made some guesses about what the truth might be but nothing like this.

"They're vigilantes?" he finally asked.

"Only in the vaguest sense of the word. We have the president's approval, but he doesn't control us. He occasionally asks us for a favor, and in return, he provides us with extra funds, government technology, and a cover story or two."

"And who is this team comprised of? I've noticed some odd names among the students and heard talk of codenames. Are those related to the 'team,' as you call it?" Hank continued.

"All of the teachers here and a few of our older students, as well as quite a few people on stand by that are rarely at the school. Yes, the codenames are related, though having a codename doesn't put you on the team and you don't have to have one to participate. The younger students love to pick out codenames and call themselves X-men in training, but most of them change their minds by the time they're old enough to make the decision. It's quite a commitment, and not all of them are comfortable making it. Naturally, I don't hold it against them. If I had been asked to join at their age, I know what my answer would've been," Charles explained with a quiet smile.

"Are these codenames necessary?" Hank asked calmly, absorbing the information like a sponge.

"It's for the best. As I'm sure you've figured out, we are kept out of the public eye. Codenames serve two purposes, both based around protection. They protect the individual. If, God help us, there is some sort of leak, it will only be the codenames that are exposed because the codenames are never matched to actual names on any paper. Anywhere. This keeps the personal life of the X-man unscathed. In addition, it protects the team. The 'bad guys' don't know which person has which codename. It makes it hard for them to figure out any communication they may intercept, and it keeps them from making an attack on the X-man off the battlefield," Charles finished.

"Who are the 'bad guys'?" Hank questioned, continuing the interrogation.

"It depends on the situation. It can be any manner of terrorists - mutant supremacists, human supremacists, religious sects like Al Quaida, or anything. It can be corrupt corporations, general kidnappers, robbers, murderers, the Maffia. Pretty much anyone who bears ill will for another person. Anything else?"

"Just one, I think. Why wasn't I informed of this when I was hired?" Hank asked, though he thought he already knew. Charles had the decency to look a bit abashed.

"Obviously, we don't hand out this information to just anyone. I now feel that you won't run your mouth to some reporter. Am I wrong, Hank?" he said.

"No, I'm not sure about this place, but I understand the definition of confidentiality," Hank assured him.

"Good. The rest of the staff here didn't feel comfortable giving you free access to the entire operation from the start, and I'm sure at least one of them will be upset that I've done so now. However, I refuse to lie to you, particularly because I wish to extend another invitation to you," Charles said cryptically.

"What sort of invitation?" Hank replied immediately.

"I'll not be coy. I want you on the team. Now, I don't want you to answer just yet. Take a look around the lower floors, satisfy your curiosity, mull it over, and, when you've come to a decision, let me know. I want you to realize that there's no pressure here. I'm not going to fire you if you turn me down. I could use a teacher who's not always taking of on a mission anyway. But please, give it some consideration," he finished. Hank nodded slowly.

"Lower levels?" he asked suddenly. Charles smiled.

"Let me show you around."

* * *

Okay, as anyone who actually takes the time to read my notes knows, this is the part where I beg for reviews. Even the smallest comment helps! Anyway, I hope this chapter wasn't too serious for you guys - I know there weren't a whole bunch of giggles. Just bear with me; the plot is moving! Hey, where are you going?! -points to Review button- 


	11. Chapter 11

Logan led his team around to the back of the crowd, mostly unnoticed by the angry rioters. There was some sort of commotion up front that they were all straining to see, but Scott's team would take care of that. Logan took a moment to prepare himself, knowing that the crowd would be hell on his senses.

"How many people to do you think there are?" Peter asked, stretching to his full 7'3" potential in an attempt to better take in the mass of people.

"This place isn't that big – no more than 2 thousand," Rogue guessed.

"Alright, let's split up," Logan said, ignoring what he considered their idle chatter.

"Split up?" Peter parroted with wide eyes.

"Cyclops said we have to stick together!" Rogue said, ponytail whipping behind her as she turned from the crowd to face him.

"Is Cyclops here? Relax, the two of you _will_ stick together, but we need to find Storm before she gets trampled. You and TinMan go that way; I'll go this way," Logan said, already beginning to fade into the group of people. Rogue huffed and turned to Peter.

"Come one, Colossus," she said, leading him into the crowd in the opposite direction. Suddenly, she and most of the crowd on her side were knocked off their feet when the earth beneath them started convulsing violently. The Jr. X-men were the first back up. "Earthquake?" Rogue asked incredulously, struggling away from the people who were trying to use her as a hand hold.

"No, over there. Look!" he said, pointing toward the focus point of the quake. A man was standing there, one hand on the ground, which still trembled beneath their feet. Brown hair hid most of his face, but one glance told him he wasn't with the Brotherhood. He looked scraggly and a bit underfed, his clothes tattered and frayed. That usually meant runaway.

"You think?" Rogue asked, looking at Peter questioningly as she continued to bat away hands. Obviously he did, or he wouldn't have pointed it out. Cupping her gloved hands to her face, she shouted, "Hey, kid!" The boy looked up, utter terror playing across his face. He stood up and began scrambling backwards before turning and running as fast as he could the other way, stepping on the still recovering rioters. "No, wait!" she called, chasing after him as quickly as she could without hurting anyone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter metal up, matching her pace as he did so.

Logan wove easily through the crowd, passing but not touching the drunken morons. Just as he'd suspected, the crowd was already starting to make him nauseous. He could smell _everything_: alcohol, cologne, sweat, adrenaline, laundry detergent, cigarette smoke – all the basic elements of a noisy group of people. Sounds from the crowd assaulted his ears until they blended together into what could only be described as a growling people-noise. All of this he could tune out, but he couldn't deny the faint quivering beneath his feet. It wasn't natural.

In the next second, everyone on the other side of the crowd collapsed, Rogue and Peter among them. Logan briefly considered going to collect his munchkins, but quickly discarded the thought as he saw them pop to their feet. In the midst of the disgusting scents and sounds, a proud smile lit up his face.

They could handle it.

With another glance over his shoulder reminiscent of a mother going through Empty Nest Syndrome, he faded more deeply into his portion of the crowd. There were gunshots going off somewhere nearby, and that was what he was most concerned about. On his cuff, a little red light flashed silently. Logan pressed the receive button, and Scott's voice came through, faint to the average ear because of the loud background noise. But Logan's ears were more than average.

"Wolverine, give me an update on your team's status. Over."

"Uh, target in sight. My team is pursuing. Looks like he's alone though. Over," Logan answered, feeling ridiculous.

"Alright, that's excellent. No such luck over here, but we'll keep looking. X said there were multiple signatures. Over and out."

Logan rolled his eyes. Cyke sounded so serious about it.

A gun fired a few feet away, and Logan whirled around. The gun carrier, however, was not some hick who'd just decided to fire a few rounds at the freaky mutants. It was a woman in a business suit, blond hair pulled neatly out of her face in a bun. And she wasn't particularly aiming at anything – just shooting up into the sky with a bored expression. She was just there to rile up the already nervous crowd. And it was working, he noted as people began to panic and run on either side of him. The dull people-noise was escalating, growing into an angry roar like sharply boiling water making a teapot scream. It wouldn't be long before things would get really dangerous. He focused himself quickly, eliminating every noise but his own breathing before turning back to the woman.

She was gone.

So, if she was the distraction, what was the threat?

Reluctantly, Logan pushed the button on his comlink that connected him to Scott.

"Go ahead, Wolverine," Scott acknowledged.

"I think something's up, Cyke. I'm going to check it out, but keep your eye open for crazies in suits," Logan informed him. "Over and out."

"What? Wolverine, what happened to the target? Did you-"

Logan pressed the button again, silencing the plaintive voice.

"Come back!" Rogue shouted, trying to sound friendly but having trouble managing it in a voice loud enough to carry over the crowd. She stopped with a huff, content to watch the guy flee between people. Peter wasn't. He grabbed her wrist and barreled through the offending crowd, pushing through them like a star football quarterback. Rogue followed in the considerably large space he freed up.

"Another mutant!" a woman to her left squealed upon seeing Peter in his organic metal form. Similar cries rose from all sides, though they seemed to roll right off Peter. So much for sneaking. They had a large amount of attention now. But Rogue noted with joy, they were catching up. With Peter towing her along easily, she spared a few smiles and waves for the pointing crowd. Good for mutant-human relations.

Ahead of them, the ground-shaking man was still trying to run. Pushing through the crowd with panicky desperation, but he just didn't have enough bulk to make much headway.

"Damn it, _move!_" she heard him cry before Peter's hand landed solidly on his shoulder. He let out something akin to a squeak.

"It's okay," she tried to soothe, though in hindsight it seemed rather foolish. There was no way he could see her, shielded as she was by Peter's metallic body. Disembodied voices – not soothing. The man struggled violently, making Peter's arm jerk around. It was futile. Once Peter latched onto something, it was like a clamp had locked it down.

"Let me go!" she heard him say as the earth again began trembling.

"It's okay," Peter said, repeating her earlier sentiment. The trembling grew to a violent shaking. He was trying to knock them down again, she realized as she began to lose her balance. Peter, too, began adjusting his stance to keep upright. It was to no avail though, and all three of them crashed to the ground. It was obvious that he was trying to shake Peter's vice-like grip, not that it would've worked. His plan didn't just not work, it backfired as the man's head crashed into Peter's steel knee. The quaking stopped suddenly, and Peter quickly spun the other 2 under his body, protecting them from the now rampaging crowd.

Logan kept weaving through the crowd, looking for anything that might be suspicious. But all traces of the businesswoman and anyone like her were gone. Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He whipped around, searching for whatever had sent his instincts screaming. Nothing. Then there it was again, but this time he was looking right at the source. It was a bright light that rocketed into the clouds above, lighting them with a surreal glow that initially reminded him of Scooter's blasts. But this beam wasn't the laser-red he was used to seeing from Scott; it was more of a rusty burnt orange that stuck out against the colorful early morning sky. Logan watched as beam after beam shot up, most of them searing through the sky at odd angles, indicating that whoever was firing them off probably didn't have very good aim. That meant it definitely wasn't Scott. Unaware that he was moving through the stunned crowd toward the light show, Logan ran through a list of what could be causing the strange bursts. Mutant, plasma gun, maybe fireworks?

He nudged one final person discreetly out of the way and came face to face with said cause. It _was_ a mutant, a young man who looked like he'd just recently finished puberty. He had golden skin, slightly lighter hair, and a lanky figure that reminded him of a certain uptight Boy Scout. The man was spinning quickly in a circle, presumably to keep the crowd from sneaking up on him, but it looked like all he would accomplish was tripping himself. The crowd was staying back, at least 10 feet in any direction, though it was more likely because of the glowing beams that were shooting from each of his hands. The light flowed from his fingers, bathing them in the orange light. As he spun, it trailed from his hands like a glowing streamer, cutting his figure with at least 2 trails of light at any given time, making it hard to see his features. His scent, too, was unclear and hard to sort out from the other smelly people in the crowd. He definitely hadn't washed in a few days, but there was something familiar about the scent. Almost like a word on the tip of his tongue that just wouldn't come out, Logan just couldn't place it. Squinting through the searing light, he looked to the other side of the circle. Not surprisingly, there were several men in business suits. They weren't paying much attention to the mutant, too busy talking amongst themselves in low voices. If he concentrated, Logan could make out what they were saying but just barely.

"…fight us. We want him to come easily," one man said.

"We'd need……. think that we're here to help," another muttered. Even though Logan only caught snatches of the conversation, it was obvious that they weren't here by coincidence. Bad news – for _them_ if they decided to mess with him.

"Hey, kid," Logan said, softly enough to escape much notice but loud enough for the boy to hear. The kid twirled around, nearly falling on his face as he did so. With wide eyes, he looked Logan up and down, trying to decide if someone who ran around in tight, full-body leather for fun should be considered a threat.

"Who…" the man tried to ask.

"Turn those off," Logan answered gruffly, nodding to the boy's glowing hands.

"I – I can't!" he responded in a panicked voice. Logan sighed – this was _so_ not how he pictured this going. After a quick look at the morons on either side of him, Logan took a resigned step into the circle of space. Immediately, all eyes were on him.

"I hope you're right about that," he growled in the man's ear as he bodily picked him up off the ground. With one hand gripping the back of the man's shirt and the other the waistband of his jeans, Logan swung the terrified blond in front of him, brandishing him like a weapon. "Back up!" he shouted at the people he was swinging the guy at – not that they needed to be told, most of them were scrambling over each other to get away. The boy wasn't taking it too badly in Logan's opinion; his screams hadn't reached the squeaky high-pitched octave that Bobby's did when anything was swung at him. But still, by the time they'd reached the edge of the crowd, he was quite shaken. Just as suddenly as Logan had picked him up, he dropped him. The boy scrambled to his feet awkwardly, half-mindedly brushing himself off as he regained his balance.

"Who the hell are you?! You're fuckin' crazy!" the guy said, pushing Logan away with a glowing hand that left a burn on the reinforced body armor. "You stay away from me, psycho!"

"Hey, if you want to go with the suits, be my guest," Logan said bluntly, knowing the boy was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The boy's eyes widened exponentially as he shook his head vehemently.

"You – you know about them? Why were they chasing us? How do I know you're not with them?!" he sputtered defiantly.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Alex. Now, answer me, damn it!"

"I'm Logan. We should get outta here before they realize your glow sticks wore off," Logan said, gesturing mildly at Alex's hands, which were now completely normal. "I thought you said you can't turn them off?" he added as he turned his back and started away from the crowd, trusting the boy would follow.

"I can't. They just… do that sometimes. I don't know how to control it," Alex admitted, trailing Logan like a lost puppy. Logan grunted indifferently, noticing for the first time that the green button on his comlink was blinking. Marie.

"Logan?" Rogue tried again, pressing her comlink for the thirtieth time in the last 10 minutes. "Why isn't he answering?" she asked Peter, not expecting an answer.

"We need another way to get his attention…" Peter said thoughtfully, looking around for anything he could use.

"Maybe we should try Scott…" she said doubtfully. They had taken shelter on someone's front porch, draping the unconscious man over the wooden swing. She was seated in a cushioned rocker, and Peter was casually leaning against one of the support beams while all around them, the crowd stormed by like a herd of wildebeest. Really, the situation would've been funny if they didn't have a head wound to deal with.

"No, don't bother. It'll just get Logan in trouble, and it's not like Scott can do anything for us. We just have to think about this a minute. We're not in a crisis, and we won't be if we aren't rash in our next actions," Peter said, glancing at the man and completely ignoring the screaming people behind him. Rogue took a deep breath; he was right.

"I think we should just go back to the jet," she said. "We need a doctor, and Logan can take care of himself," she said. Oddly enough, she remembered Bobby saying those same words during the school invasion. At the time, she'd balked at the thought of leaving one of her best friends to fend for himself, but in this situation, it was the only thing that made sense. Peter nodded.

"But which way is that?" he asked, looking over the heads of the people in the crowd for any familiar landmark.

"I _think_ it was that way," Rogue said, pointing behind the house.

"Let's hope so," Peter said as he scooped up the injured man.

* * *

Jean sat dutifully in the co-pilot's seat on the jet, back ramrod straight and eyes unfocused. When her body shut down like this, it usually meant that she was completely enthralled in her telepathy. Scott had ordered her to keep track of every mind on the team – because it needed to be done, and because he thought she was a liability. On missions, Jean was always the back up means of communication. If your comlink went dead, if you needed to remain silent but contact the others, if your arm was cut off – telepathy was a handy (if not superior) back up. But Jean wasn't stretching herself into each person's mind – just keeping a reassuring touch on the outskirts. Usually very easy unless she had to span great distances or telepathically multitask (in which cases she stretched herself a bit thin, and any communication became broken – like listening through static on a walkie talkie). Today, however, she was having issues.

It wasn't maintaining contact that was her problem; the area that she was spanning was only a few square blocks. Today, it was remaining on the outskirts. Every mind seemed to be trying to suck her in – something that never ever happened because it was too strenuous for her and… well, non-telepaths generally couldn't _do_ that. If she was the only one with the ability, it must be because of something she was doing – something that was different about her. What was it? She took a deep breath, trying to focus on doing her job. The team was fine; no one was crying out for help or in any real amount of pain. So her mind began again to wander. It was just too boring to float on the surface anymore. Seemingly of its own accord, her mind swooped toward Peter's, spiking in sharply before she was able to pull back.

What was _wrong _with her?!

She forced herself back to physical world, concentrating until the minds that were unexpectedly drawing her in like magnets were just a faint whisper in the back of her mind. She found herself sitting on the edge of her seat, sweaty hands grasping jet's control panel frantically. Taking another deep breath, she wiped her hands on her uniform (_why had she even bothered putting it on?_) and rose to pace the jet. She walked quickly with even steps that echoed through the empty shell that the others had abandoned.

_Back and forth. Back and forth._

Something was different about her. Though, that had been true since she was a child, hadn't it? But now, something was _really _different.

_Back._

Had something happened to her at Alkali?

_Forth._

If so, what and when?

_Back._

And why wasn't she sure? If something major had happened to her – some sort of mental change – shouldn't she have realized it?

_Forth._

She stopped between the seats in the cockpit. This wasn't accomplishing anything. It didn't matter _what_ had happened. She just needed to deal with whatever it was. She was obviously much stronger now – that was a good thing. Now she could be more productive on the team. Maybe she could work on some offensive attacks instead of defense, communication, and interrogation. But she needed to learn to control it again, and pacing wasn't going to help her. She would learn the same way that she had when she was just a teenager: starting from what she could control and taking baby steps from there. She could handle this, and then, when she was ready, she would make the X-men that much stronger.

But what could she control now?

That was actually a pretty good question. She'd thought that she'd be fine with monitoring the team closely, but that obviously hadn't worked out. Her mind was being sucked in, finding the other minds, wanting to – What? She didn't know. She didn't _want_ to know. Whatever it was that she wanted, it wasn't a good thing.

_Wait!_

Finding other minds. That was it! If her mind wanted to track down other minds so desperately, let it. There were minds that needed to be found, especially certain wind riders who'd been knocked unconscious earlier. If she could find Ororo, she could direct Scott or Logan to go get her.

She sat back in her chair, leaning back and stretching her neck as she descended back into the murky darkness that only telepaths could truly appreciate. The minds of the X-men, who she'd never really lost contact with, were still screaming for her attention, but she forced herself past them. She only needed to see one single mind, and she locked down her field of view to a single pinprick. It was the only thing she could do to ignore the other people in the crowd. Her eyes moved rapidly behind her closed lids, reminiscent of someone in the midst of a good REM sleep. It was so hard to find someone who was unconscious, even when you were familiar with their mental signature. She could almost feel the lost woman. Almost. She just needed to zero in to determine her location. At least she wasn't in any life threatening danger – that much Jean could already tell.

Suddenly, Jean was knocked from her chair and into the windshield as the jet gave a mighty lurch. Jean squealed, instantly ripped from the mental world with a painful jerk. What had happened? She pulled back, standing up and rubbing her face, grateful that she hadn't broken something on the 3" reinforced glass. The jet was still shaking, rumbling under her feet. She walked quickly to the jet's hatch, opening it and looking out. There were people everywhere, swamping the jet. They were the cause of the shaking. Some people were just storming by, but many were stopping and beating on the sides of the jet with anything they had handy: base ball bats, bottles, sticks. They most definitely weren't going to cause any damage to the triple titanium jet like that, but still…

How _dare_ they hit the X-jet?! Didn't they know who they were dealing with?

"Hey! Hey, stop that!" Jean shouted at them from the inside of the jet. Split seconds after the cry left her mouth, she realized to probably wasn't the best idea, but then, she was nursing a nasty migraine from her telepathy being disrupted. Several of the rioters looked her way before nudged the people beside them and pointing.

"Look! A mutant!" one of them whispered.

"Is she one of those freaks?" asked another.

"She must be with those nutcases who started this shindig!" a large man yelled over the others, pointing at Jean with a broken glass beer bottle. "Get her!"

It was people like these who really pissed her off. Who did they think they were – condemning the whole for the acts of a few? It was stupid! But she could show them. She had the power now. She would show them the power that mutants held – _could_ hold over them. If mutants _wanted_ to control the world – _wanted _to fight – they would win! Jean calmly stepped down the metal steps, her footsteps echoing as they had earlier. By the time she reached the ground, she was a sight to behold.

Unbeknownst to Jean, her powers had swelled with her contempt. Now she was nearly floating in midair, her toes barely skimming the sandy earth. Her flaming red hair was wild and stood crazily away from her face, framing her sharp emerald green eyes in shadows. And she had only eyes for the man who was still pointing at her. He was at the head of at least 75 people, carrying the bottle as though it were King Arthur's sword. Jean huffed a humorless laugh and looked him in the eyes. And smiled.

"Oh, shit," he muttered under his breath in fearful awe as he felt warm wetness drizzling down his legs.

"Hello, boys," she said, pleasantly.

* * *

School's starting soon, but I'll try to post as often as possible. Reviews do make my job that much easier though. 


	12. Chapter 12

The windy snow had worsened considerably since Chase had lost his trail, growing into a full-blown monster mountain blizzard. Chase could barely see the handlebars in front of him much less the ground he was driving on. His bare hands had long since gone numb. In fact, he'd be lucky if they weren't frostbitten. There was no way he'd get them back to camp at this rate.

"We have to stop!" he shouted at Amara, struggling to be heard even at such a close proximity. She frowned a second, then nodded. Chase climbed off the snow mobile and dropped to the ground beside it, thankful for the shelter it allowed from the biting wind. He blew on his frozen hands, futilely trying to warm them. Amara, shivering herself, dropped down beside him, barely having the sense to pull the tarp that was strapped to the back of the bike over them.

"Next time you offer to take me to the top of a mountain, remind me to say no," she joked, trying to distract him from the cold. Her words fell flat, unable to rouse even a grin from him. "Hey, at least you stopped shivering, right?" Drearily, Chase looked down at himself, realizing that he _had_ in fact stilled his quivering. Not good.

"Actually, that probably means I'm entering the next phase of hypothermia," he said, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. "I'm sorry about all of this, Amara."

"It's okay; we'll get home," she said cheerfully, though her teeth were chattering loudly and she was so cold her bones hurt. "We will. I bet Dad's out looking for us right now. How long do you think it'll be?" she asked. Silence. "Chase?" she asked, worry making her voice raspy. She looked up at him and was horrified to find her eyes were closed. "Chase!" she said intensely, shaking him frantically. Still no response. For the first time in her life, Amara felt true fear. He was so pale. And still. He was dead. He had to be. And she would die out here too. She could already feel her body starting to shut down, and her eyes fluttered defiantly, trying to stay open.

Suddenly, something within her shifted. She couldn't pinpoint the change – it wasn't as definite as that. But a radical change it was. Beneath her, she felt the frozen earth heating up, warming from far, far below. Then out of nowhere, there was a roaring crack just outside of the tarp that shook the ground ferociously. Daring to stick her head out into the blizzard, she saw the most spectacular sight she'd ever born witness to. Great red spurts of lava were erupting from the mountain mere feet from them. Yet the ground beneath her was only comfortably warm, like it had been heated on a sunny summer day. The lava, too, seemed to be in her favor. Each blast flew over or away from them, not coming within six feet of where she and Chase lied. Amara watched in wonder as blast after blast shot into the snowy air. Then, the most amazing thing yet happened. Instead of the lava flowing out of the new volcano (as is natural), upon reaching the surface, the lava settled, still hot and steaming but not leaving the lake-size hole it had made at the edge of the tarp.

The warmth that the lava lake emitted was easily melting the snow from the blizzard before it neared them, and if Amara had closed her eyes, it wouldn't have been hard to picture herself back home in Brazil, lying on the banks of the Amazon near her village. But there was no _way_ she was closing her eyes now. Unfortunately, the warmth beneath her was lulling her into doing just that. After a few minutes of watching the lava swirl within itself, Amara's eyes slipped closed as she succumbed to stress and exhaustion, passing out beside her still unconscious brother.

* * *

Bobby trailed behind Scott and Kitty as the second team wandered through the crowd. He wasn't sure what they were looking for – Storm and the other mutants, yes. But what signs should he be looking for? It wasn't as if there would be a neon sign pointing them out. _Any suspicious activity,_ Scott had told them as they set out. However, the entire situation was suspicious when you thought about it objectively – a riot the entire town decided to attend, Storm – a master flyer – suddenly losing contact, several new mutants in one place. Since when did newly manifested mutants travel in groups?

Ahead of him, Scott was doing a good job of passing through the crowd unnoticed, skillfully moving amongst the herd without raising a single alarm. This was a difficult task, considering that the three of them wore such obvious uniforms, and Scott had his visor to contend with as well. Kitty took a much more direct route – she just phased through anyone in her way, sending jolts down their spines that they would later recall as "a terrible, tingly shudder." While this method worked well for her, it didn't leave Bobby much of a path to work with, and he had to shoulder his way along, praying that someone wouldn't get fed up with him and finally knock him one. Or worse.

Gunshots boomed in the back of the crowd, warning Bobby that this was a _real_ mission – not a Danger Room simulation. The area he was in was fairly calm for the moment, but Rogue was near those guns. He hoped she was okay. He really did love her, just in a different way than he'd first thought. It was more brotherly – wasn't it? She was a beautiful woman; that was undeniable. And he really _didn't _mind not being able to touch her; he was confident that they could figure something out even if she couldn't get control of her powers. None of that was an issue. But did he love her romantically? He loved lots of things about her: the way she teased him, the way her accent deepened when she was nervous or excited, the way her face lit up when she spotted him from across the cafeteria. But that smile that he so adored was becoming more and more of a rarity. It was being replaced by sarcasm-laced eyebrows and a scowl that could only be pulled off by one other person in the mansion… When he thought about it, the smile made most of its appearances around that one person – Logan. Bobby still got smiles of course, just not the big, beaming ones that he was used to. Was he being replaced? No way. Logan was ancient; Rogue wouldn't go for that. They were just friends.

_They were just friends._ Was he really only talking about Logan and Rogue when he said that? Or should he add himself to that description?

Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it soon. His relationship with Kitty was already intruding on his relationship with Rogue. One of them needed to end… but which? Kitty was great, but was she good enough to replace Rogue the Ever Sweet and Modest? And even if she could, would it be a long term thing? He was most definitely not willing to throw out what he had with Rogue for a fling, and most of Kitty's relationships tended to be just that. Then again, Kitty had never dated anyone in the mansion before. Could she have been holding out… for him? Was he willing to take that chance? Kitty would make a great girlfriend, maybe even one day a great wi—

Bobby was slammed to the ground harshly, the wind gushing out of his lungs sharply. _Lovely, Drake. What was Scott's number one rule? Never get distracted? Good work. _He continued berating himself as he looked up to see a burly thug hovering over him.

"I _said_ get out of the way, munchkin," the man growled before planting his booted foot comfortably in Bobby's stomach. Bobby winced but managed to focus enough to kick the bozo in the back of the knee that was supporting most of his weight. The man went down; unfortunately, he went down on Bobby. The younger man groaned under the surplus of weight and heaved against the heavy burden. "Oh, no you don't," the thug snapped, grabbing a hold of Bobby's collar and slamming his head into the ground. Around the pair, people continued to storm, not paying much attention to whom or what they were stepping on. A foot barely missed Bobby's head, and, even though his world was spinning at the impact of the blow from the thug, he realized that if he didn't stand up soon, he was going to be trampled. The thug had managed to pull himself to his knees, making it easier to beat Bobby. Blow after blow pummeled his torso. "Good fer nothing little brat," the man muttered as his fists made contact with flesh. Bobby grunted under the continuing impact until he was finally able to get his one of his hands up near the man's face. A blast of ice shards slid into the man's face, driving painful but shallow scrapes across his cheek and forehead. The man stopped his attack and looked at Bobby with fear. "Stop it!" he cried. "Stop, you mutie freak!!" Bobby was about to drop his hand and rise to his feet, confident that the man would leave him alone, when another person in the crowd stomped onto his hand as he ran by. Bobby shouted as his hand erupted in pain. He thought he could hear the bones snapping as the person took off again, and another great blast of ice shot from Bobby's good hand. Still shouting at him, the man doubled over, hiding his bleeding face in the stomach he'd just been beating. Bobby whimpered lowly, his hand throbbing too much for him to focus.

"Hey, He-Man! Get off!" a familiar voice shouted as Kitty pulled the older man off of Bobby. "Yeah, he's a mutie! Guess what! You mess with one of us – you mess with all of us!" she continued, sucker punching him hard in the stomach. "Now get outta here before we really decide to mess you up!" With a final kick to the man's butt, Kitty pushed him off into the rest of the crowd, watching with satisfaction as he was shoved further away by the stream of people. She turned to Bobby and pulled him to his feet, being careful not to touch his injured hand.

"We make a good team," he said, looking at her meaningfully.

"Are you okay?" Kitty asked him, leading him through the crowd to a small clearing Scott had found and ignoring the steamy look in his eyes. Scott was waiting for them, tense and ready for anything to come his way.

"Iceman, are you injured?" he asked sharply, the intended concern only heard by those who knew him well.

"His hand is hurt," Kitty piped up before Bobby could answer.

"I'll live, sir," Bobby replied dutifully. "I can keep going." Scott gave the boy a quick once over, assuring himself that he wasn't hiding something more serious than a bad bruise.

"Alright, let's move," Scott said, leading the trio back into the dense crowd, which was growing wilder by the minute. They continued wandering. Kitty was starting to wonder if Scott actually knew where he was going – if he even had a destination in mind. Bobby was just grateful that he didn't have to struggle around people anymore. Since Kitty had bailed him out of the fight, she'd kept a firm grip on his hand, phasing him _through_ the people behind her.

"There!" Kitty shouted, grabbing Scott's shoulder to stop him. "I see her!" Scott's eyes followed the direction she pointed. Sure enough, Storm's body was sprawled awkwardly at the edge of the crowd. Scott harshly shoved his way through the people between them, trusting that the two juniors would be behind him.

_Jean, we found Ororo,_ he thought across the telepathic link as he kneeled at Storm's side. _Jean!_ He sent a little more urgently. But he was getting the equivalent of mental static. Scott pressed his fingers to Ororo's neck, assuring himself that she was alive. She was a mess, but she was alive.

Dirt was smeared across her face, presumably from when she'd crash-landed; the skin around the area looked tender and raw. Luckily, her back and neck had survived the impact intact, protected mostly by her uniform and the experience gained from countless other falls from the sky. Her hair was mussed and streaked around her head in a messy tangle. More concerning, however, was the collection of blood pooling beneath her shoulder.

Pressing the comlink button that would connect him to the X-jet, Scott grew worried. Why wasn't Jean answering? After another frightening moment of silence from the other side of the link, he made a decision.

"Iceman, Shadowcat, take Storm and return to the jet," he said, gently lifting the woman and handing her off to Bobby. "Be as careful as you can, and be on guard – Jean isn't responding. When you get to the jet, tell me so I'll know you've made it. Can you handle this?" Both teens nodded solemnly.

"What'll you be doing, sir?" Bobby asked, not wanting to leave anyone, especially his mentor, behind.

"I'm going to keep looking for the mutants. Now, hurry before this crowd resorts to complete hysteria," Scott said dismissively. "If you need backup when you get there, call Wolverine."

"Come on, Bob- Iceman," Kitty said, sharply correcting herself at the last minute. Grabbing Bobby's arm, she led him hurriedly through the crowd, her face beet red. Scott was going to be _so_ pissed!

Scott shook his head disapprovingly as he watched the pair leave. He was going to have to remind them of the importance of codenames.

"Cyclops – Mr. Scott Summers…" a strange voice rang out clearly beside Scott. He whirled around. No one in the crowd was even looking in his general direction. "Teacher at Xavier's school, field leader of the X-men, engaged to recently deceased Jean Grey," the voice continued. Again, Scott turned to find the source of the voice. "What a pity," the voice snarled right next to Scott's ear, sending goose bumps down his spine. "Don't worry, Slim; I'll be back." And then it was over. Scott continued twisting around, scanning the mass of people for the one with the frightening voice. It _had_ happened, hadn't it? If it had, there was no evidence of it now. Still… he pressed the yellow button on his cuff.

_Yeah?_ Logan's gruff voice came through almost immediately on Scott's comlink.

"Wolverine, where are you? Over."

_We're all headed back to the jet. We got the mutants, but no sign of Storm._ Then, after a second. _Over._

"Iceman and Shadowcat have Storm. She's injured, but I couldn't get through to Jean. Keep your guard up. Over and out."

Already being on the fringe of the crowd, it was easy for Scott to skirt it completely. Just a few minutes at a brisk run and the jet was in sight. But... _what the hell?!_

* * *

"Bye, Dad!" Chase called as he entered the cabin of the private jet Mr. Thurmond had chartered to take them back to Brazil.

"Chase, wait a sec," Mr. Thurmond said quietly, grabbing Chase by the sleeve of his jacket. Obediently, Chase hung back, standing just at the door of the small plane while his dad remained on the ground.

"What's up?" he asked after a moment. His dad was usually straightforward about everything, but now he seemed reluctant to say what was on his mind.

"I need you to take care of Amara," he finally said, sticking his weather-beaten hands into his parka.

"I know. I screwed up on the mountain. I'm really sorry, but that's not going to happen again," Chase said helplessly.

"No, it's not that. I know you won't make a mistake like that again…" Mr. Thurmond trailed off, staring thoughtfully at the wing of the plane. Chase was about to speak again when Mr. Thurmond finally straightened up and looked him in the eye. "Your mother is worried about Amara. There's no denying that she's… ya know."

"A mutant," Chase finished without hesitation.

"Right, right. Well, your mother says that she knows of… a place for them," Mr. Thurmond continued. "She says Amara would be safe there. But honestly… I've never seen the place, never met the guy who runs it. I need you to watch out for your baby sister."

"It's not an asylum, is it? Dad, you can't –"

"No! I'd never do that! She's still my daughter. No, it's more like… an institution."

"That doesn't sound any better," Chase said skeptically. Mr. Thurmond shifted uncomfortably, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Just please keep an open mind. If it looks like a bad idea, we'll forget I ever mentioned it. But I don't know how to handle this," he admitted quietly. Chase froze; he'd never thought about what would happen if his parents found out for sure that he was a mutant. Apparently his father hadn't either. Then Amara became a mutant overnight. It was so unexpected that the entire family was thrown off balance. Things were going to be different now, though he couldn't say what exactly would change.

"I'll take care of her," Chase said resolutely.

"That's my boy," Mr. Thurmond responded with forced cheer. "Say hi to Mom for me." Chase nodded and stepped back from the door so his father could shut it. He returned to his seat beside Amara as the pilot in the front of the plane started running through preflight system checks.

"What was that about?" Amara asked with worry. Unable to look her in the eye, Chase busied himself with his seatbelt, adjusting it without really accomplishing anything.

"Mom and Dad want to ship us off," he said shortly. Amara's eyes widened as she watched him fiddle with the buckle. Resting her mitten-clad hand on his, she drew his attention to her face.

"Us? They know about… you?" she asked cautiously.

"Yeah. They found the GPS and my gloves and figured it out… Don't worry; we'll be okay," he said, assuring her with a small smile. It was for her own good that she think they were both being sent away. She didn't need to feel guilty that he was going to the "institution" with her. She watched him for another long minute before sighing and relaxing in her seat.

"I guess that's it," she said. "We're on our own now."

"As long as we stay together, they can't hurt us," Chase said, repeating the line his father had often told them when things got rough. In truth, he had no way of knowing that they would stay together or that they wouldn't be hurt. But that was the only hope that could keep him going now, so he clung to it like a life raft. They'd be okay as long as they were together.

* * *

Logan turned onto the street where they'd parked the jet to see a scene of utter destruction. It looked like a tornado had touched in the middle of the block, but with Storm out of commission, it was highly unlikely. Still, the street was practically shredded, giant hunks of asphalt thrown into yards, onto roofs, and tangled in trees. The yards looked like they'd recently been plowed, but the dry sand was definitely not made for farming. The houses themselves weren't in a much better condition, some of them completely missing walls or entire rooms. Frowning, Logan realized that the damage radiated out from where the jet sat, completely untouched by the demolition derby that had gone on around it. Suddenly, the very air around him tightened; whoever had caused the damage had noticed they were there.

"Kid," Logan said quietly to Alex, "go hide."

"What?" Alex asked, his voice echoing around the eerily quiet street.

"Go!" Logan said, shoving the younger man to the ground as a tree uprooted itself and went flying at them. Not needing to be told again, Alex took off, his hands instinctively flaring as adrenaline spiked his bloodstream. When he was safely hidden behind one of the houses that hadn't been torn to bits, he glanced back into the street. Where was that guy? He wasn't trapped under the tree, Alex assured himself as he stared at the now idle tree. That tree had attacked them! No, not the tree. Trees didn't do things like… that. Something had thrown the tree… without touching it. Damn, where was that guy?!

Logan crouched behind an overturned car, waiting impatiently for the flesh encasing his forearm to grow back. Jean. What the hell was wrong with her? A loud, shuddery scream tore through the silence that seemed to separate the street from reality. Logan darted out from behind the car, racing toward the source of the shout. It came from a man on the other side of the jet who was writhing on the ground, bellowing in intolerable pain. Jean stood nearby, obviously the cause of his agony but acting like he didn't exist at all.

Jean was a sight to behold. She was hovering above the ground, letting her feet dangle carelessly. Her uniform gave her a streamlined look that increased her otherworldly presence. The air around her was strained, and invisible bursts of bone-searing energy erupted unknowingly from her like flares from the sun. Most of her anger had spent itself on the other rioters. Really, she was just toying with this one, practicing so that the next time the team needed her, she'd be ready. Next time, one of her teammates wouldn't have to get hurt before she stepped in. She _was_ growing rather bored though. She was almost positive that she had a good enough understanding of his molecules and brain waves to do anything she wanted with him. And the screams were annoying. With less than a thought, the man ceased to exist, his body breaking down to its most basic elements (carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, phosphorus, and sulfur) and dispersing quickly into the environment with Jean's help.

"Jean?!" Logan called, snapping her from her giddy reverie that overtook her when she played with atoms. She'd known he was there and had delighted in him watching. Did he like what he saw? "What the hell did you do?" he barked, still cowering near the jet. Disgusting, putrid wimp! Logan went flying through the air, slamming into and through a house down the street.

"I did what needed to be done! I did what none of you _could!_ I did what was best for the _team!_" she shouted after him. Almost before the words had left her mouth, Logan was climbing to his feet.

"That's not how it works, Jean. X-men don't kill," he called to her, not bothering to hide his disgust at her. "You sound more like Magneto than an X-man!" he accused.

"You hypocritical, murderous _animal!_" she snarled, lashing out at him again. This time, her physical assault was coupled with a psychic attack, worming into his mind with the sole intention to _hurt._ Now, Logan screamed, a tortured sound that echoed across the block as he was thrown again.

"Jean?" Scott called as he raced around the corner and on to the demolished street. "Jean, what's going on?!" Ignoring the wreckage on the street, he ran toward the jet.

"I'm fine, Scott," her voice, suddenly cold and distant, drifted from behind the jet.

"What's wrong with Wolverine?! Where _is_ he?" he asked, rounding the nose of the jet so he could see her. "What are you -?" he asked with confusion. She had one hand extended in Logan's general direction, fingers slowly curling into a fist. "Stop it!"

"He tried to _kill_ me, Scott!" she hissed, pinning him with a fiery stare. Scott glanced from Jean to Logan and back. No.

"Put him down, Jean," he said resolutely. Her eyes snapped to him angrily. "That's an order!" Immediately, her hand opened, and the screams stopped. Her entire demeanor had changed. She looked like a chastised school girl with downcast eyes. "Get on the jet. Start prepping for takeoff," he said, his voice wavering slightly. The unspoken words hung between them on their mental link. _Stay there._

Looking away and breaking the moment, Scott trotted over to Logan, who was just starting to rise to his feet. Twice now, Logan had tried to hurt the woman he loved. The woman Logan _claimed_ to love. Scott wanted nothing more than to blast the other man until he was just a scorch mark in a mile deep crater in the ground. He could feel heat building in his eyes and knew that he had the power to make his dream come true.

"Get up," he snapped at Logan. After a moment, Logan had still only made it to his knees. "I said, _up!_" Scott repeated, grabbing Logan's shoulder and yanking him to his feet, which barely held him up.

Something was wrong.

That nagging good-leader voice in the back of his mind was sending off an alarm. Angry as he was, he wanted to ignore the warning – he really did. But that same alarm had saved lives, his own as well as his teammates', in the past.

Logan was quivering sharply, overtaxed muscles rebelling against movement. His eyes were glazed and obviously shell-shocked. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across his face. She'd really done a number on him.

For some reason (probably that damn alarm in his head), Scott wasn't mad any more. He wanted to get everyone home and be done with this mission. He was worried about Logan but more so about Jean.

"Logan," he said more calmly. Logan managed to glance up at him. "Where's your team?" He started to sputter a response, but after a few failed attempts, settled for looking meaning fully at one of the houses at the end of the block. "Okay, let's get you on the jet," Scott said, throwing Logan's arm over his shoulders to help support his weight.

"Crazy…" Logan muttered under his breath as they walked slowly to the jet.

"What?" Scott asked, taking a little more of Logan's weight.

"She's crazy!" Logan repeated more vehemently.

"Okay," Scott answered, chalking it up to dazed rambling. Still, the word seemed to stick in his mind, held fast by the screaming mental alarm.

Bobby and Kitty were waiting at the jet when the two men made it back. Ororo was secured in a seat at the back and was starting to come around.

"Cyclops, what happened?" Bobby asked, looking at Logan and the surrounding street. The boy was obviously still on high alert, though Scott could see the exhaustion in his face.

"There's nothing we can do about it now," Scott answered, dismissing him as he helped Logan up the stairs. "One of you contact Colossus and Rogue." Kitty nodded and made to press Rogue's comlink button.

"They're a few blocks east, but they're on their way. I told them to hurry," Jean announced from the cockpit. Scott acted like he hadn't heard her, focusing instead on settling Logan next to Storm.

"I want you checking their vitals every five minutes," he told Bobby as he walked to the pilot's chair. He sat in his seat, flipped a few pre-flight switches, and stared out the window ahead of him, scanning the decimated street and not looking at Jean.

"Cyclops!" Kitty called sharply from the back, near the hatch. "They're coming! And they've got someone with them!"

"One of the mutants," Jean informed him quietly, her eyes still lowered. "He's unconscious, but he'll be okay."

"Give them a hand, Shadowcat," Scott ordered without so much as glancing back. Not wasting a second, Kitty hopped down the hatch steps and sprinted across the road between them.

"You guys okay?" she asked as she approached her friends.

"We're good," Peter answered, adjusting the limp body that was thrown over his shoulder.

"What happened to him?" Kitty asked, wrinkling her nose.

"He just got a little shaky…" Peter replied, easily out-pacing Kitty with his long strides. A few steps behind him, Rogue snorted at the bad pun.

"Where's Logan? Is he alright?" Rogue asked, taking her turn with Kitty as Peter neared the jet.

"Um, he's on the jet," Kitty answered hesitantly. Rogue pinned her with a gut wrenching stare. "I think he'll be okay, but I don't actually know what happened…" Kitty looked away, feeling like she'd let Rogue down – again. The other girl's eyes widened, and she started sprinting toward the jet – only one thing on her mind. One person.

"Hey! Wait!" a voice called. A young man with blond hair was charging toward her. "WAIT!" Finally catching up with her, he grabbed her shoulders with both of his faintly glowing hands. "Wait," he repeated, pausing to catch his breath. "I'm with him," he said, pointing to the other man who was being carried onto the jet. Rogue looked at him with bewilderment. He was unkempt, dirty, and ghostly pale – no threat to them. And he was keeping her from Logan. With a sigh, she nodded, and they jogged the rest of the way to the jet together.

When she climbed through the jet's hatch, Rogue immediately went to Logan's side at the back. She knelt beside his seat and took one of his hands in her own.

"Logan?" she asked, though he obviously wasn't yet coherent. "Logan, are you alright?"

"I'll live," he managed after a moment of focusing on her question with a frown.

"What happened?" she asked, running her thumbs over his gloved hand.

"Rogue, take a seat," Scott ordered from the cockpit as he closed the jet's hatch. Kitty plopped down behind Scott and buckled herself in.

"Rogue," Bobby said softly as the engine fired up. Gently, he pulled her up off the floor and into the seat beside him. "What happened?" he asked, pointing to her shoulders. There were two burn marks that cut into the Kevlar uniform nearly to the skin. They were hand marks really; the individual finger indentations were still clearly visible. With a dismissive glance at Bobby, she shrugged, but her eyes flew to the strange blond boy, who was sitting beside the unconscious earthquake mutant further up the aisle. Who was he?

By the time the team got back to the mansion, Logan was well enough to walk, though his lungs still felt pinched and his muscles were still screaming. He was the first one off the jet, as usual, but he paused on the landing deck when he saw Charles and Hank waiting on the ground below.

"Chuck, we're going to need a doctor or two," he commented before walking down to their level. Without another word, he shouldered passed Hank and disappeared down the hall. Charles's eyebrows rose. Doctors? It had just been a small riot!

Next came Rogue and Kitty, carrying a still mostly unconscious Ororo, whose head fell to the side, blood dripping down the back of her uniform. Alex followed them, queasy and wobbly on his feet. Peter was right behind him, Alex's friend tossed casually over his shoulder. Bobby trailed a bit, a few bruises already beginning to show on his tan skin. Finally, Jean, who looked like she was near tears, and Scott made it off.

"Scott, what happened?" Charles asked as casually as he could. No matter how many times he sent his team out, it was always freshly startling when they came back injured. Scott looked from Charles to Hank. What the hell was Charles thinking – letting _him_ down here? Was _nothing_ in his life stable anymore?

"I need some time to gather my thoughts, sir," he said neutrally as he started toward the infirmary, following the line of others.

"Professor, I believe my services are required at the moment. Perhaps – perhaps we can continue this later?" Hank said, turning to leave the hangar.

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Dr. McCoy," Charles agreed, though the big blue man was already heading toward the infirmary. "Jean?" he asked, looking hopefully at the only person who'd stayed behind. The woman, who was always so in control, sniffled, wiping suspiciously at her face.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I'll understand if you want me to go…" she said, teary-eyed but standing tall.

"What happened, Jean?" he asked with increasing worry. She looked at him with surprise. Didn't he already know? Hadn't someone already told him?

"I lost control," she said simply. She couldn't give him the details yet; she would break down. Someone else would fill him in.

"Lost control how?" he asked, watching her carefully. She shook her head as a few more tears slipped down her cheeks. "Jean, what happened?" Now thoroughly upset, Jean wrapped her arms around herself and took off at a fast walk. Now more worried than ever, Xavier let her go, but he went straight to the infirmary, where the rest of the team was gathered.

Hank was in his element, working quickly and thoroughly on each of his patients. Ororo was already stabilized, and Hank had left Scott to finish cleaning her minor cuts. Alex was perched on one of the exam tables, watching with wide eyes as Hank took his heart rate.

"I'm fine," he squeaked after a moment, pulling his arm away from the doctor. Without a moment's hesitation, Hank pulled his arm back and began taking his blood pressure. "I'm just air sick. I don't like planes," Alex continued. Alex looked around the room, his eyes finally settling on his friend, who had been laid in one of the beds. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked Hank. Hank frowned with confusion before he followed the boy's gaze.

"Ah, yes. He'll be perfectly fine if my preliminary examination was any indication," Hank said as he scribbled Alex's vital signs in messy scrawl on a clipboard.

"What did you do to him?" Alex asked suspiciously, glaring at Hank darkly.

"_I_ took his vitals and made sure that he wasn't going to die. However, the cause of his injuries – because I assume that's what you intended to ask – was a rather nasty knock in with Colossus's knee if I remember correctly. But not to worry, Alex, his pupils are responsive, and his respiration and heart rate are both unremarkable. We're going to monitor his vitals, but I'm wholly assured that he'll be fine. A minor concussion at worst," Hank replied quickly before moving on to the next patient.

Bobby was likewise sitting on an exam table, glaring just as darkly at Kitty. Hank offered him a big, toothy grin before pressing his furry fingers to his neck.

"I'm fine, Dr. McCoy," Bobby said, pulling away.

"That seems to be the consensus of all the conscious people at this school. However, I wouldn't have done my doctoral duty if I let you leave without looking you over. Please cooperate," Hank said. Relenting, Bobby allowed him to finish checking his vitals. "Now, what seems to be the problem? Are you experiencing any aches, pains, or other maladies?"

"I'm _fine_," Bobby repeated.

"He got beat up by some bozo," Kitty answered for him. "And I think his hand is broken." Hank raised his eyebrows.

"Fine indeed," he said softly. "Let me see your hand, Bobby." With another death glare at Kitty, Bobby held out his injured hand. "Excellent. Wiggle your fingers?" Bobby twitched his fingers a few centimeters, grimacing and biting back a whimper. "Hmm… I'd like to take some x-rays, though if the swelling around your third and fourth metacarpals is any indication, the young lady is correct in her diagnosis," Hank said, gently examining Bobby's hand and then giving Kitty a pleased smile. "You have potential, my dear," he said.

"Thanks, Dr. McCoy, but I think I'd prefer research," she answered with a confident smile.

"Ah, I partake in both medicine _and_ research," Hank tempted as he moved to shoo Scott away from Ororo's bed. Kitty shook her head, still smiling, and turned back to Bobby.

"I _told_ you it was broken," she said, standing on her tip toes to wrap her arms around his neck. Bobby jumped, pulling out of her grasp.

"What are you doing?" he asked with surprise. Her smile faded.

"Nothing. I guess I just… forgot," she said, taking a step away from the exam table. "Well, you have X-rays to do, so I guess I'll just go. See you later?"

"Uh, yeah, definitely," he said, though he was confused by her sudden mood change. Kitty nodded curtly and turned, quickly crossing the med lab, and disappearing into the hallway beyond. In the hall, she barely took note of Xavier and Scott in a strained conversation as she rushed for the elevators that would take her upstairs. She was tired of sharing.

Scott glanced at Kitty as she charged by before looking back at Xavier, who was trying to pry information about the mission out of him. Scott had given him a basic briefing, explaining why Ororo was injured and how they'd come to have two mutants coming back with them. He was currently trying to tell Xavier about the extreme damage that had been done to the suburb, but the professor's focus was solely on Jean's wellbeing.

"She was so shaken up," he pressed after Scott tried to change the subject again. "Just tell me what happened, Scott. Is there something I should be worried about?" Scott sighed and looked over Charles's head, watching the few people that remained in the med lab wander about.

"I think she… lost control of her powers out there. That's what happened to the street," he explained, trying to think of the best phrasing for what he was about to say. "I wasn't… there when it happened, but she had some sort of confrontation with Logan. I don't know if that caused the damage to the street or not, but… it got really hairy out there."

"May I?" Charles asked, gesturing to Scott's head. Scott nodded and dropped to his knees in front of Charles's wheelchair. Xavier raised his hands, holding them on either side of Scott's head, and gently entered Scott's mind. The memories that needed were right on the surface, and it didn't take more than a moment for him to understand everything that Scott knew. He pulled back, still trying to process what he'd seen. Scott looked up at him, and Xavier wished for the millionth time that he could see Scott's eyes. How was he taking this?

"I don't think I can make objective decisions about this, sir," he said slowly. Xavier nodded.

"I understand. I'm not entirely sure that I can myself, but I'm going to have to push my personal feelings aside. I'll have to speak to Logan and Jean about the matter," Charles said with a frown. "Off the record… what do you think?" Scott rose to his feet again, taking his time to come up with an answer.

"I think… I know something's wrong. She's not really acting like herself lately," he started. "She won't tell me anything that happened to her while she was gone. She says that she doesn't remember, but… maybe she's blocking it? I just don't think that this is entirely about her powers. I don't know if it's… some sort of trauma that she needs to be treated for or if she just hasn't settled back in yet, but she can't go on like this. She's hurting the team now. And I know that she's pushing herself too hard. She just can't be everyone's everything, you know?" Charles nodded.

"Thank you. I want to try working with her. I'll see if I can't uncover any suppressed memories that might be affecting her. Still, this may be beyond me. But don't worry. No matter what, Jean is a part of our family, and we'll do everything that we can to help her get back to her usual self," Xavier said determinedly. Then he sighed, and all of the strength drained from his face.

"What is it?" Scott asked.

"I hate to ask this of you at a time like this, Scott, but do you think you'd be able to handle things here until tomorrow? I have a meeting in Brazil this afternoon that entirely slipped my mind," he explained, frowning at his own irresponsibility.

"Uh, yes. I think it's going to be a pretty quiet night here. I'll have the two new people given rooms in the guest house for now, and I'll keep an eye on Jean," Scott said. So much for the relaxing evening he'd been hoping for.

"Thank you," Charles said. "I'll be taking Kitty… no, Jubilee with me." Scott raised his eyebrows. "It's a recruiting meeting. I'm going to try to convince a family to send their daughter here – she's extremely powerful. I can't risk her being on her own, and I think Jubilee will help to reassure the family. Besides, Kitty's already had a long day. This will give Jubilee a chance to stretch her legs, and maybe she'll prove that she's ready to go back on the junior team." Scott groaned at the thought of Jubilee on the battlefield again.

 "I'm not sure she'll ever be ready for that, sir," he said, thinking about all the messes she'd gotten them in before she'd been suspended from the team. Charles just smiled.

"There was a time when I thought the same about you."


End file.
